


Despicable

by ThornyHedge, Universal_Acid



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Blood and Gore, Bodily Functions, Cannibalism, Feeding, Giant Spiders, Humiliation, Hurt Fíli, Hurt Kíli, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Rape, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, Whump, graphic descriptions of medical treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Universal_Acid/pseuds/Universal_Acid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Azog and Bolg catch an up-close glimpse of Thorin Oakenshield's heirs, the father and son decide to take what they want. After all, nothing will break Thorin more than knowing that Fili and Kili have been kidnapped to suffer a fate worse than death.</p><p>Written to satisfy all of Thorny's and Acid's sick, sadistic, and twisted pleasures. We are bad people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Father and Son

**Author's Note:**

> Azog and Fili written by ThornyHedge.  
> Bolg and Kili written by Universal_Acid.
> 
> Two one-way tickets to hell, please!
> 
> ** NOTE ADDED 1/31/15**
> 
> Please also note that our descriptions of Bolg and several of the events that occur in this story diverge noticeably from the movie canon. We imagined Bolg's appearance before he made his debut in DoS and wanted to keep a closer timeline to the books with respect to the time spent in Mirkwood. So these things seem sorta different.
> 
> **Trigger Warnings and Disclaimer:** Please note that this story contains graphic descriptions of rape, violence, torture, and other forms of abuse that are subject to change as they arise in each chapter. Trigger warnings will be added as the respective triggers are worked into the story. Requests for specific trigger warnings that we may have overlooked will be generously accommodated. We do not condone rape and violence, and we understand that this is a work of fiction. All rights and privileges belong to their licensed, respective owners. This is written solely for personal reasons and not for profit.

The fires raged through the fallen trees on the cliffside, consuming wood and the bodies of fallen orcs and wargs. Oakenshield fell beneath Azog’s charge and all around him was chaos, delicious chaos. Azog reigned his warg back onto her perch above the reach of the flame, and from there, in his authority, he gave the order that the king be decapitated. His lieutenant stepped forward, sword raised. It seemed, in that moment, that the pale orc had truly realized his victory. 

Then, the company rebelled. As impossible as it seemed, from their tenuous and seemingly ill-fated position in the fallen trees, one cried out in protest and ran forward, dagger raised. Not a dwarf, that one, but something smaller. The hobbit who had been travelling with them. He stabbed Azog’s lieutenant like a child with a play sword, ending the execution attempt.

Soon, Oakenshield’s heirs had leapt onto the fiery forest floor, to the defense of their vulnerable king. These ones, so obviously of the line of Durin given their handsome, breakable features and the blissful fire of their rebellious youth, rushed forward, swords swinging.

Azog had never seen Thorin’s heirs up close. He had once seen Thorin’s younger brother, the one who had fallen in battle at a young age before Azog had lost the arm. It was obvious the golden-haired youth who charged forward with a roar was one of Thorin’s kin - a nephew, perhaps. The resemblance to the dead brother was uncanny. The other youngster, another nephew, no doubt, looked like Thorin himself - young and sturdy of body and full of the wildness of inexperience. False courage, that one. So similar to Thorin in his youth.

“Father...”

Bolg sidled his warg up beside his father, watching. Azog could tell from Bolg’s tone that his son had also seen the heirs. He could hear it in Bolg’s voice, the lust. When he glanced at his son’s round face, he could see the glint of desire in his beady black eyes.

“Which one?”

“Dark hair,” Bolg murmured. He grinned and snaked his tongue out over his thick lips. “I want.”

Azog considered it. Perhaps, he pondered, he was going about breaking Thorin Oakenshield in entirely the wrong manner. How much more pleasurable it would be for all involved if he drew out the breaking process. There was no need to waste such beauty in a swift and wasteful death. The brutality did not need to be immediate. Besides, it would hurt the wretched king of the dwarf-scum so much more to know that his heirs - his sibling-sons, precious things, both - were alive. In pain. Defiled without the sweet release of death.

He chuckled low in his throat and rubbed his stiffening groin against the fur of his pet, imagining the sensation of breaking those rambunctious dwarvish lads.

In his growing lust, Azog cocked his head to the side, considering the golden-haired youth. After Bolg’s assertion about the younger, it wasn’t difficult at all to imagine that one defiled, writhing beneath him, broken. He was beautiful, and Azog enjoyed ruining things that were beautiful. And he especially looked forward to the ruination of Thorin Oakenshield.

The clash of steel, cries of fear from the trees and the crackle of burning timber was interrupted by the screech of a large winged creature that swooped in to strategically knocked several wargs and their riders off the side of the cliff and into the chasm below.

In moments, more of the large brown birds - eagles, the foul vultures! - were gliding through the scene of the battle. One flapped its massive wings in the air above Oakenshield, closing its horrific talons ever so gently around the fallen leader and spiriting Azog’s nemesis away from the hillside. 

“No!” Azog bellowed. But he could not stop the kidnapping.

Still others flew in to catch the dwarves who had finally lost their grip on the toppled pines, seconds before they might have plummeted to their deaths. 

He realized that these eagles appeared to have been sent with the sole purpose of saving Oakenshield and his company.

Bolg watched in horror as the birds stole away the dwarves. He had to get what he wanted, and he had to do it now. He spurred his warg forward towards the dark prince before one of the hideous birds could close its talons around him and hurl him from the cliff. Father could do what he wanted about the second. But the dark one, the prettiest one - Bolg would slay an army to take that one for himself.

The dark-haired youth spun at Bolg’s attack and raised his sword. Bolg brought his scimitar down and smacked the lad hard across the face with the flat of the blade. The dwarf reeled with the blow and fell to the ground and tucked into a roll. Bolg heard the screech of his warg and felt the creature jerk and suddenly he was pitching forward, onto the cliff. He recovered quickly and reassessed. Then he grinned as he saw the stupid, stupid move that the dwarvish prince had pulled.

In gutting Bolg’s mount, the dwarf boy had brought the beast’s body down upon himself, pinning him to the stone. 

“Kili!” the golden one cried, sprinting for his struggling kin. 

He dropped his swords to the ground and seized his brother’s hands, straining to pull him out from under the dead weight as Bolg raced into back the fray. In a few short steps Bolg was on the pair of princes. 

“Fili, look out!”

At his brother’s cry, the golden one spun to defend himself. He dove for his falchion and brought it up just in time to parry as Bolg brought his scimitar crashing down. 

Bolg smashed his shield against the prince’s other arm and disarmed the dwarf yet again with his scimitar. The falchion went spinning off into the distance, over the cliff, perhaps. It did not matter. Bolg flung his shield away and with his free hand, caught the dwarf’s yellow hair and smacked him against the ground. The dwarf groaned as Bolg kicked him twice in the chest before turning his attention back to the thrashing, furious one beneath the warg. 

He could care less about the yellow one. The dark one was his prey.

As with most battles, Azog was content to watch the unfolding. However, this time, there were prizes at stake, and those prizes were far too close to being snatched away by birds - summoned, no doubt, by the wizard in grey. As he watched his son wrest the golden one away from his intended target, he realized his own window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

The younger heir cried out in protest, but his tone turned to one of dread as he saw Azog rush in and leap from his warg towards the golden prince who lay writhing on the ground, clutching himself where Bolg had kicked him. He planted a foot on the heir to pin him in place and grinned down at the struggling dark-haired one as he reached with his intact hand for his dwarvish prize. Azog watched as the raven-haired youth’s eyes searched the sky for an eagle, the one planning to rescue them, as they had the others.

Azog scanned the sky. The birds were distracted, but not for long.

“Gandalf!” the dark heir cried, desperate.

The helplessness in the voice and the wide-eyed gaze was intoxicating, and for a moment, Azog felt his opinions waver. But seconds later, the blond youth scrambled to his feet and turned, too late, to discover Azog’s hand ready to close around his neck. Up close, the abject terror in those surprisingly blue eyes reminded Azog of why he’d chosen this one. He quickly closed the space between himself and the golden-haired prince, firmly grabbing the unarmed dwarf around the neck and lifting him effortlessly into the air, legs kicking.

Amidst the shrieking of the eagles and the sounds of his father struggling with the yellow heir, Bolg listened to the terrified, furious wail coming from his prize. He bent and grabbed the heir by his black hair and kicked the fallen warg off the prince’s body. The dwarf lad came up fighting, but Bolg was bigger and far heavier, if not stronger, and skilled enough in war to quickly immobilize his prey with three smacks of his fist to the boy’s belly and a hard blow to the back of his skull. When the heir went limp in his arms, Bolg threw his prize over his shoulders and bolted away from the cliffside, away from the burning trees and the wretched eagles and back up towards the mountain. 

Azog briefly watched his son disappear into the trees as he wrestled with the task in hand. The golden heir was rapidly losing his battle with consciousness. He’d scratched, bitten and kicked at the pale orc as the strong arm held him only to have the powerful hand close more tightly around his throat, cutting off the much-needed breath of life. Still, his eyes were full of fire up until the moment they glazed over in resignation. He went limp in Azog’s grip.

Azog gave him one final shake, fingers digging cruelly into the soft flesh under the bearded jaw to be certain he was subdued. Then he tossed the heir over the pommel of his saddle like a poached hart. He swiftly remounted his pet and spurred her away from the battlefield. 

An encroaching eagle’s talon threatened to rip him from his mount, and he stabbed upwards with his spike of a hand into the eagle’s limb. The bird shrieked and Azog managed to escape, prize obtained and goal nigh attainable.

His warg took him bounding past Bolg. He felt a swell of pride at the sight of the unconscious prey swung over Bolg’s shoulder. So alike, Father and Son. A brief image of what they would do to their respective prisoners made him shudder in anticipation of the pleasure, the screaming. And what their actions would do to Thorin Oakenshield - that remained to be seen. But no doubt, it would break him to know that his beloved heirs were missing, captured and most likely - no, certainly - defiled.

“Goblintown!” Azog bellowed to his son as he passed. If there was one thing those wretched goblins were good at, it was improvised methods of torture.

He caught a brief glimpse of Bolg’s nod as he bounded for the passageway in the cliffside. At the entrance he leaped from his mount and rushed into the black, his faithful pet following swiftly behind.

Azog rushed into the crevasse until he reached a spot where the walls widened slightly and he could wait for his son to join him. As he waited on Bolg’s arrival, he pulled the unconscious golden prince down from the back of his mount, cradled him with his prosthetic claw, and caressed the heir’s face with a pale finger, evaluating his newfound possession.

The youth’s skin was surprisingly soft, but clear beneath the glowing, blushing flesh was a healthy musculature. The flame-colored hair that had drawn Azog to his prize glinted in the light of the nearby torches and fell like a curtain over the slack features. In repose, the dwarf-scum appeared much younger and more vulnerable than he had while defending his fallen brother. How much more beautiful he would look, covered in blood and writhing in anguish. Azog was eager to start peeling off the youth’s layers of thick cloth, leather and fur to reveal what lay underneath - and begin to truly become intimate with his prize.

The youth suddenly groaned and thrashed, regaining consciousness far too soon. Azog didn’t mind. The look of fear that manifested itself in those sapphire eyes as they discovered Azog’s face only inches from his own was worth the slight risk of him wriggling away and escaping. But he couldn’t have the squirming dwarf cry out and awaken his brother. A sharp blow to the side of his head stilled him again.

“Mine’s prettier.”

Azog turned at the sound of Bolg’s voice in their guttural tongue behind him.

“Mine’s a better fighter,” Azog countered. “It’s more fun to break the strong ones.”

Bolg scoffed. “You say that as if you’re going to rip him apart.” He tossed a nod to the half-hard and rather diminutive cock beneath Azog’s loincloth, grinning when his father’s lecherous smile disintegrated into a furious scowl.

“It does the job,” Azog spat. “At least I get it up.”

Bolg bristled at that. He got it up, he really did. It just took... certain conditions.

He unslung his own prize from over his shoulder and held him up roughly by the collar. The unconscious dwarf’s head lolled with the jostling. He was gentle-featured for his kind, near-beardless and pretty indeed - dark lashes, a little soft in the cheeks. Bolg liked that softness. He brushed his thumb over it, and then he traced his hand down the dwarf’s chest, pulling open the sumptuous fabric and supple leather that concealed the body from his hungry eyes. Impatient with all the excess clothing, he tore at the fabric until he revealed the skin beneath the layers. A dusting of dark hair extended down from the navel over the small but noticeable layer of padding around the middle. His breath hitched in his chest at the feel of the softness over the muscles. A treasure indeed, this one.

“You don’t need to break them down in order to defile them,” Bolg said to his father as he squeezed that little bit of fat between his thick forefinger and his thumb. His cock stirred beneath his armor. “Sometimes you can build them up.”

“You scum,” Azog grumbled. His lip curled up into a sneer. “Wasting good food like that.”

Bolg ignored his father’s chastising and focused on the feel of his stolen prize. The toy wasn’t skinny - dwarves almost never were - but it would take some time to get his prize to look and feel the way that Bolg liked his playthings. He had no doubt that this one would fatten up nicely for the fucking. Dwarves always did. Besides, there would be other uses for this one once Bolg had finished using the body to sate his carnal hunger.

“Marbling,” he murmured. “Muscles gone to seed taste the sweetest, yes?”

“You’re despicable.” Azog’s smile was proud.

“I’m your son,” Bolg said. “I learned from you.”


	2. Shame

The two orcs remained in the shadowy crevasse leading back into Goblintown. Both were eager to assess their treasures before bringing the sweet things into the filth of that crumbling city of goblins. Lowly creatures, goblins. They did not know how to take their time in breaking beauty.

Azog turned his whole attention to the sleeping beauty in his grasp. He swiftly divested the unconscious youth of his clothing, stripping him down to nakedness. The skin on the golden haired dwarf’s body was even softer than that on his face. Not wanting to bruise his own knees, Azog spread the lad’s coat out on the stone slab that would serve as his temporary prison bed, before laying his naked prize face down.

This flesh rarely saw the sun, Azog realized, hand gently palming the swell of the blond’s buttocks. So soft, so ripe for striping and scourging. This dwarfling - Fili, he thought he’d heard - was pale and freckled in places. Azog leaned down to sniff tentatively at the youth’s hair. It smelled of the forest, of a campfire, of leather and balsam. One by one, the pale orc plucked the silver hair clasps from the youth’s braids and set them in a small pile; the unfettered hair curled becomingly as it came undone. Its heft was torturously soft, beguiling in his hand. It mocked him.

Azog was eager to rut. Oh, but this dwarf was so _small._ He’d die too quickly if Azog didn’t exercise a great deal of patience and restraint. And, of course, the brothers would have to be kept together; together, but allowed very limited physical contact. It would only enhance their torture.

He was beginning to wonder what was keeping Bolg distracted. His son had seemed even more eager than he himself was to begin with this particular pair. He amused himself by running a finger down the spine of his princely prize and into his cleft.

“Too skinny,” Bolg muttered to his father, frowning down at the golden prince. He too set to work stripping his prize of clothing. But Bolg, more patient now that he had seen just how sumptuous that dark little dwarf’s body was, took his time. No more tearing at the fabric, nor clawing so hard at the laces as to tear the skin beneath the clothing. Only a gentle undressing and the slow dropping of each garment to the dusty earth.

“That’s why he’s mine, not yours,” Azog countered, although he had no idea why he felt he needed to explain his choice to his progeny. If Bolg had his way, he’d spend all day rubbing his prize’s belly and never get around to reaming him. And where was the pleasure in that?

“You can have that one all to yourself,” Bolg said as he stripped the blue, hooded shirt from his captive’s well-shaped body.

“Oh, have him I will, and sooner rather than later,” Azog assured him. “I haven’t got the patience to nurture them along as you do.”

“Heh, is that what it is? Nurturing?” 

“Feeding them, dressing them. You’re like a new mother.”

“Why, you!” Bolg threw the dwarf’s shirt at his father, smacking him in the face with it. When Azog swung a backhand at him, he ducked and held up his hand, deferring to his father’s power. He knew his place. One day, when he was a lord of orcs, he could knock his sons around and insult them just as much as Azog insulted him. It was the right of a father, and he had no choice but to submit to Father’s authority.

Just then, a startled yell from Bolg’s prize drew his entire attention back to the sumptuous thing. In his awakening terror, the prince kicked up hard into Bolg’s face, boot colliding with Bolg’s cheekbone and sending a searing burst of pain through his features. Bolg bellowed and threw the dwarf to the ground and flung himself down upon the scrambling prize, pinning him down into the dirt.

“Get off me!” the prince cried, defiant. He scrambled for purchase in the sand and the gravel and flung a handful of dust into Bolg’s eyes. 

The orc howled in pain and smacked the dwarf hard in the face. Then he closed a meaty fist in that wild dark hair and pulled back, exposing the tender, flushed skin beneath the toy’s jawline. He wrenched the lad’s head to the side, towards where his brother lay, still unconscious, before Bolg’s kneeling father.

“Fili!” the dwarf screamed. “No!”

“Shh,” Bolg whispered. He said in broken Khuzdul, “Struggle and he dies.”

The boy went still beneath Bolg’s weight. He grinned and pressed his lips to his toy’s warm skin, relishing the cry of revulsion at the feel of his tongue upon the stubbly flesh.

Azog watched with mild interest, splaying his intact hand over Fili’s back possessively, making sure the dark-haired heir saw the gesture. _Mine,_ the hand implied. 

Tears immediately welled up in the dark eyes of Bolg’s plaything and he gritted his teeth, glaring furiously at Azog even as Bolg rubbed a big hand down over the supple skin of his shirtless torso.

“Rebellious, are we?” Bolg murmured. He took a moment to lean back and reassess his treasure now that the dwarf was awake.

Up close, with eyes open, the little creature was even prettier than he had seemed before. Even that furious glare was attractive somehow, soft mouth spread into a hateful grimace and dark eyes glittering with the untempered rage of youth. Bolg could tell that this one would look so blissful when being tormented with the carnal pleasures of sex, of being fed, of being filled and expanded in so many ways that Bolg almost got hard enough to fuck his prize right then and there.

He let his toy know by rubbing his half-stiff groin against that unclothed waist, savoring the desperation in the yell of protest.

His brother’s distress must have awoken Azog’s golden prize. “Kee?” he murmured, trying to raise his head, groaning at the dizziness.

“Fili!” The one named Kee began to thrash anew, reaching desperately across the sand for his brother. “It’s Azog!”

At that point, the yellow-haired youth must have remembered being captured, for he tried to push himself up but was greeted with a restrictive hand on his back and the terrible sight of his brother, naked from the waist up and pinned to the sandy floor by a massive, corpulent orc. The brute made a great show of rubbing his crotch against Kili’s waist and pelvis. The sight of that made Fili cry out in anguish before he heard the dark chuckle, just behind him. He turned his head slowly to find Azog leering down at him. 

“No,” he said, as if somehow the word would banish Azog from his sight. “No!” he attempted to wriggle out from under Azog’s hand, an action the pale orc immediately halted by lowering his clawed hand to prod the tender flesh of Fili’s cheek, just above his beard. He stilled. 

“You let Fili go!” 

When Bolg’s noisy treasure started thrashing again, Bolg had to physically restrain the feisty prize by grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the ground. He worked his leg between the kicking legs and pressed his groin against his toy’s thigh and dug his knee into the dwarf’s groin, drawing a delicious moan of pain from his new plaything. Still, the lad did not stop fighting.

Somehow, the youthful exuberance of his prize was doing wonders for Bolg’s sense of arousal. Perhaps it was the way that every thrash brought the supple young form up against Bolg’s body, or the way that a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on those muscles in the dwarf’s chest and on the slightly convex curve of his belly, or the way that little folds formed in his waist as he writhed and twisted, wholly unaware of how teasing Bolg found that bit of softness, or how excited Bolg was becoming by the thought of adding generously to that suppleness.

“Please,” Fili gasped, a small rivulet of blood trickling from the sharp point just below his eye. “Kili! Please, don’t hurt him!”

Azog retracted the sharp extremity. “I’d be more concerned about my own welfare if I were you,” he hissed, foul breath heating Fili’s cheek before he licked the blood away with his raspy tongue. His intact hand again stroked its way along Fili’s bared back, thumb not stopping until it was securely entrenched in the cleft of Fili’s ass. The blond shuddered with revulsion, but did not speak.

“NO! Fili, fight him!” 

Bolg’s toy - named Kili, apparently, as if it mattered - was beginning to panic.

“Don’t be afraid, Kili,” Fili said, barely controlling the tremor in his voice. “They won’t kill us. They’re using us to get to Uncle.”

“You should be afraid,” Azog chuckled. “You should be terrified.”

From beneath the oppressive weight of the stinking beast atop him, Kili could only mouth in wordless horror at what he dreaded was about to happen. Finally, he found his voice again.

“What are you going to do?” He cried - to the pale orc or the fat one, he didn’t care. He had to know. “Tell me what you’re going to do!”

“You want to know that?” Bolg chuckled darkly as he let go of one of Kili’s wrists and rubbed his hand down his waist and left it resting on the slight curve above Kili’s hipbone. When he squeezed, the dwarf hissed and tried unsuccessfully to jerk himself free. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Whatever you plan to do to him... do it to me instead,” Fili implored of his captors. 

Bolg let out a guffaw at that. “I have no interest in you,” he said derisively. “You’re too scrawny.”

Kili’s eyes widened and he gulped as the implications rushed through him. “You’re going to eat me?” He whispered, blood running like ice. “No...”

“H-he’s too young!” Fili cried. His entire body was trembling. Try as he might, he could not stop the shaking. “He’s not ready for... what you are planning! Would you do this to a child?”

“Yes,” Bolg said immediately. “You dwarves call it veal when it comes from cattle. Gavage will fatten up the liver, the muscles... and oh! The younger the cattle” - he squeezed Kili’s side and slithered his tongue over the still too-hard jawline of his prey - “the tastier the meat.”

Kili screamed incoherently, thrashing uselessly against his oppressor. Tears began to course unchecked from his clenched-shut eyes. He tried - and failed - to block out the images that now burned their way into his mind.

Fili’s terrified trembling was a delicious aphrodisiac to Azog. The orc leader delved his thumb deeper, soliciting a frightened cry from the blond. His body tensed around the digit and Azog no longer felt the need to toy with him. A quick flick of his wrist found the thumb halfway driven inside the tight ring of muscle inches beneath it. At last, he managed to wrest a scream from his prize.

“Want to watch?” Bolg whispered in Kili’s ear, laughing softly. He pressed his free hand to the side of Kili’s face and pinned his head down, cheek to the sand, forcing him to face his brother as Azog took what he had claimed. Bolg grinned at the terror so starkly painted in Kili’s gentle features. “Don’t worry,” Bolg said, “Father won’t hurt him too badly. His prick is little.”

Azog gave the golden heir just a moment’s respite before jamming his massive thumb the rest of the way home. He splayed his four fingers, completely covering one of Fili’s buttocks and he wiggled the sheathed digit. Fili hissed in pain as he began to spasm around Azog’s thumb.

“So very, very tight,” Azog announced to his son. He leaned in and murmured to Fili, “I feel that Bolg is only trying to put you at ease, princeling. I do wonder how the king of the dwarf-scum will enjoy hearing of your deflowering.”

“Just get to the fucking already!” Bolg shouted, suddenly furious. He took out his impatience by pressing his hand to Kili’s cheek and rubbing his thumb in a circle over the slight thickening over the cheekbone. He managed to amuse himself with the feel of Kili’s features even as he watched Azog dally with his golden toy.

Azog withdrew his digit with a pop and Fili whimpered, too wary to move lest that spike, so close to his eye, slip and blind him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the horrors that enveloped him.

“My prize, my timetable, whelp,” Azog menaced to Bolg, fisting a hand in his toy’s golden mane. 

He dug his fingernails into Fili’s scalp and scraped them roughly down over the blank canvas of fair skin on the back of Fili’s neck, his shoulder blades, his muscled back and waist, his round and perfect buttock. He paused briefly to unhook and toss away his loincloth. Then he straddled the hips of his prostrate prey. 

“You are not going to enjoy this nearly as much as I will,” he hissed. He used his thumb to spread the supple cheeks and lined himself up with the revealed opening. Fili tensed beneath him - foolish move, that, it would only increase the pain - as Azog pressed his hard cock against the puckered entrance. He spat hard at the interface between his tip and the quivering rosebud that was ready for his defilement.

He struggled awkwardly for a moment - damn that Oakenshield, cutting off his arm! It made the fucking more challenging. Azog swiftly repositioned himself by slamming two spikes of his left claw through Fili’s shoulder. The princeling shrieked with the injury. _No matter,_ Azog thought. The move bought him stability. He readied himself for the penetration.

The twin spikes stabbing ruthlessly into his shoulder drove away any thoughts Fili had that this might just be a dream, some wretched and horrible nightmare. The pain was white hot, but was quickly superseded by Azog’s invasion into his unprepared channel. 

Fili had never experienced such agony. The physical pain was unlike anything he had ever known, but it was made worse by the sound of Kili’s wail and the terrible knowledge that his brother was being forced to bear witness - and could very well be next. As waves of brutal pain coursed through his clenching, tearing muscles, he forced himself to stare at Kili’s face, and in the terrified locking of their eyes, he found the strength to bear the brutality of his violation.

Azog’s bore down into his prize until he was fully embedded in the tight friction of Fili’s body. He gritted his teeth and thrust until he felt the sensation ease as the blood came, lubricating their coupling as he settled into a rhythm.

Fili tried to stay focused on Kili’s face, despite the fear he saw there, but as the massive orc allowed more and more of his weight to blanket him, Fili found it harder and harder to draw breath. Grey flowers, then black, began to bloom in front of his eyes. His own shame forgotten, he stretched his uninjured arm towards his younger brother, pale hand opening and closing slowly, but the hand soon fell limp to the ground as Fili gave into the alluring pull of the deadening painlessness of subconsciousness.

Kili sobbed as Fili’s eyes glazed over, then fell closed. The monstrous pale orc continued to rut in him, carefully it seemed, as if being gentle so as not to kill Fili too quickly. Kili tried so hard to block out the sight of the blood, the sickening sounds of the copulation, the way Fili just... lay there. Being violated.

When the hot tears burned their way down Kili’s face, his own captor licked them away with a thick tongue. A shudder of revulsion coursed up Kili’s spine.

“You see?” Bolg repositioned himself between Kili’s legs just enough to press his half-hard cock into the dwarf’s soft groin. “It’s not so horrible.”

Kili kicked uselessly against his captor’s sides. The orc’s leather armor dug into the insides of his thighs through his trousers and he could feel the codpiece pushing gently, teasingly into his own soft maleness. He gasped in horror as he felt his body respond to the touch. He shuddered at the jarring juxtaposition of seeing Fili - motionless but for the rhythmic movement of his corpse-like body with the pumping of his rapist - and feeling himself stir due to nothing but simple physical stimulation. Was he really so weak? The revolting feeling was akin to being plunged into a pool of hot, greasy, foul-smelling water.

Bolg frowned down at his visibly nauseated prisoner. Ah, now that simply would not do. How was he going to fill this one up if the mere sight of violence was enough to sicken him?

“Think about how good it must feel to do the fucking,” Bolg whispered in Kili’s ear. He dropped his hand between their bodies, reveling in the feel of the goosebumps on Kili’s belly, and then he slipped his big hand down beneath the fabric of the trousers to close his fingers around the prince’s dwarf-sized, mostly soft cock. He began to stroke. “Pretend it’s you who’s inside of him. His tight little body, clenching you, quivering around you.”

Kili shrieked and renewed his thrashings. He pounded his fists against his captor, but there was nothing he could to stop the response of his body to the unwanted stimulation, especially with the images of Fili, bloodied, being raped. Him doing the raping. Kili was young. He couldn’t control himself yet. It hurt, what Bolg was doing, it really did. It was not pleasurable. Then why was he hard? Why was his body betraying him like this?

He keened and squeezed his eyes shut as Bolg stroked him harder. The stimulation was too much. He was too sensitive. He flushed in humiliation and arched involuntarily into his captor’s dry touch, hating himself as his body took him closer to that finish.

Azog listened to the sweet sound of Kili’s screams. That was enough to push him towards his climax. He let it go and gave a hoarse cry as he emptied his load into the still vessel beneath him. There was no need to hold back. Where was the fun if his victim wasn’t squirming? He withdrew with a wet squelch, relishing the blood and seed that spurted out of Fili, painting Azog’s organ and the back of Fili’s thighs. 

Maybe these two were more frail than he’d initially assessed them to be. He raised his eyes to lock with the dark-haired one, bleary brown eyes filled with terror from whatever Bolg was whispering to him. 

The pale orc smiled. He had trained his son so well.

Bolg watched his prize carefully as Kili’s breathing began to bottom out, growing shallow as he got closer to his unwanted climax. He grinned and gave Kili three final long, sensuous pulls, and then let go.

Kili moaned in agony as the sensation let up right when he was close, so close. His stones ached with need, but Bolg would not oblige him. The orc suddenly clambered to his feet and grabbed Kili by the hair and hauled him up, kicking.

He reached into one of the many snack stashes on his person and pulled forth a piece of old, dried meat. He gave it a taste. Elf, he recognized by the sweet gaminess and the texture. Without a further word he stuffed it down Kili’s gullet.

His brother’s cries of distress finally permeated Fili’s sensory twilight. 

“No... Kee...” he whimpered. The words had become a constant litany. 

He tried to move to Kili’s aid and groaned in agony at the effort. He could only watch with ratcheting anxiety as his brother was force fed something, it appeared to be jerky - but of what, Fili didn’t dare question. 

Azog planted his hand firmly in the small of Fili’s back, reminding him of his place.

Kili fought as the sweet taste burst upon his tongue. He made to spit it out but Bolg clamped a massive hand over his mouth. He had no choice but to chew and swallow the dried meat. As it slid half-chewed down his throat, he realized that he could not even tell whether it had been raw or cooked. The taste was foreign, unfamiliar. He suddenly had the sickening realization that whatever he had just eaten had come from something... intelligent.

He wanted to be sick. He tried so hard to will his body to reject it. But he was a dwarf. Dwarves were almost never sick, and now, as he burned with the violating sensations of need and desire and revulsion at what he had just been forced to become, he went limp in his captor’s grasp, sapped of the will to fight.

Bolg grinned as he threw his still-conscious plaything over his shoulder once again. He tossed a nod to his father, who watched calmly from where he knelt on the ground, hand and spike still pinning the prone, bloodied princeling to the earth.

Fili cried out in protest as the other orc disappeared into the darkness with his brother. Not even the agony in his body could compare to the dread for what was going to happen to Kili. Or even to himself. 

He shrieked in sudden pain as Azog hoisted him up into the air by the spike still embedded in his shoulder. Fili fought hard not to struggle - it was in his instinct to fight - but he knew that if he struggled now, he could lose the use of the joint, or bleed out through the slow trickle of blood that now worked its way down the inside of his thigh to drip off his toes into the dirt some feet below.

As Azog closed his hand around Fili’s neck, he lifted the dwarf by the chin and gazed into his glistening blue eyes. Fili glared back at Azog in silent defiance. He had not shed a tear, but they were there, just waiting to come out.

Azog smiled at him, kissed him softly upon the nose, and said, “Don’t worry, my pet. I’ll give you plenty to cry about soon enough.”


	3. The Cave

Kili jostled on Bolg’s shoulder as the orc lumbered through the winding caves, unable to summon the will to fight back against where the monster took him. He wanted to fight, by Mahal, he did, but somehow he could only let himself be carried away, torn from his brother and hauled into the depths, back into the dark of Goblintown, where he knew that he would die.

 _Just as well,_ he thought. The taste of ruthlessness still lingered in his mouth. The imagined voice of the person he had eaten screamed over and over and over again in his mind, _You are a cannibal._

_And that’s all you care about, Kili - yourself, you wretched thing - when your brother was just raped before your eyes._

He began to shake uncontrollably as the tears poured down his cheeks. In his ear, Bolg only laughed, mocking his fragility. And oh, how Kili deserved to be mocked for what he had just done. He felt the heat of shame rise in his neck and his face and when he gave a sharp sniff, he caught the scent of his own foul terror in the sweat that poured from his skin mixed with the odiferous smell of his orcish captor.

Azog gave a disinterested grunt as he watched his son depart with his prize. Next to him, beneath the weight of his heavy hand, Fili whimpered in protest at his brother’s mistreatment and he struggled to get his legs up under him to stand. Refusing to allow him that luxury, Azog scooped Fili up effortlessly and hoisted him over his shoulder and followed Bolg along the dark, twisting cavern.

As Bolg came into the open chasm far below the catwalks of Goblintown, he slowed his pace and pulled Kili down off his shoulder, clutching the little dwarf tightly to his chest as he fended off the riled and inquisitive goblins.

“Dwarves!? Let’s skin them!”

“Give it to us!”

“Get back, filth!” Bolg bellowed, kicking a yelping goblin back when it got too close to his prize. “He’s _mine!”_

“Dwarves killed the king,” one bug-eyed goblin cried. “They must pay!”

“You can’t have this one ‘til I’m through!”

Bolg shoved through the horde of goblins and made his way towards something of a rickety ladder that led up into the catwalks. He gripped the ladder with one hand and stepped on the bottom rung. The rotten wood snapped under his prodigious weight and he bellowed in fury. He took out his rage by smashing the ladder against the wall and stabbing the nearest goblin through the eye with a fragment of wood.

“Wretched things,” he grumbled. Then he whispered in Kili’s ear, “Don’t you worry, my pretty one. I won’t let them eat you just yet.”

When Kili gave a soft moan and began to squirm again in his grasp, Bolg clutched his treasure all the tighter, immobilizing Kili and protecting him from the greedy goblins. First and foremost, Kili belonged to Bolg, and only when Bolg was finished could the goblins have the scraps. After all, goblins could hardly tell the difference between the choicest cuts of meat and the gristle, or the age of the animal from whence the meat came. He was not about to sacrifice this little beauty to their maws before he had enjoyed every delectable morsel of this dwarf’s young body.

Bolg glanced behind him to be sure that Father was following. Indeed, Azog was some distance behind him, still making his way through the goblin masses into the deep, where together, as Father and Son, they would enjoy the pleasures that they had stolen. Bolg grinned and pushed past the little monsters. He delved further into the catacombs until he found a small tunnel, barely big enough for his massive body to fit through. He peered inside and saw that the tunnel opened up into a small cavern - some goblin sleeping chamber, judging by the bedding and the bones and the general foulness of the place. But it was big enough for him, for Azog, and their treasures. 

“This one?” Bolg asked his father, referring to the room.

Azog’s lips curled up in a lecherous sneer and he nodded, eager.

Satisfied, Bolg unslung Kili from his shoulder and dropped him to the ground. Kili stumbled as his feet touched rock again and he lost his footing. He scrambled back to his feet and tried to make a break for it, but the fist that closed in his hair jerked him backwards to a stop. He choked on his sob of pain and struggled futilely as Bolg reeled him in close.

“Inside,” Bolg ordered. He shoved Kili into the tunnel. “And be quick about it.”

Kili staggered into the tunnel and looked back, searching fearfully for Fili.

Just behind Bolg, Azog tossed Fili to the rocky cave floor. Fili groaned with the pain of the impact on the stone. Azog kicked him in the side, bidding him to follow Bolg as he huffed and heaved himself through the opening. Fili winced, but he dragged himself after the monstrous orc. Once through the tunnel, he found himself in a small, almost intimate cavern, and he quickly moved to his brother’s side.

“Kili,” he breathed, cradling Kili’s face in both hands. “We’ll get through this. I promise...” 

“Enough!” Azog bellowed, his huge hand snatching a handful of Fili’s hair and pulling him away, heaving him roughly against the nearby stone wall. The impact knocked the wind from him and he slid to the base of the wall, cradling his shoulder. 

“No!” Kili cried. Bolg smacked him hard in the face and sent him crashing to the ground.

“You do not touch one another unless we bid you to,” Azog hissed, grabbing another handful of Fili’s hair and pulling his face up so his gaze met his own. “And you should not make promises you cannot keep.” The golden hair that had caught his eye out in the firelight was already snarling, beginning to look dingy and lackluster. But in spite of his injuries and the growing haggardness of his appearance, Fili’s eyes were still clear and full of defiance. 

This would not do.

Azog slammed the side of Fili’s head into the stone floor and his prize lay still. 

Fili drifted, tethered to reality by the occasional sharp pain when shivers jostled his pierced shoulder or his torn internal muscles. In the nightmare that grew out of his twilight state, he saw Kili, screaming and writhing on a spit, still alive, flesh burning from his body. He woke with a gasp and desperately searched the chamber for his brother.

Kili was there, alive, unburnt. But Bolg was in the process of tying him up on the other side of the cavern, and Azog was stoking a fire to life in the center of the cave. Fili could still smell the sweet, acrid scent of burning flesh from his dream, and he realized that the goblins used the same chamber for cooking that they used for sleeping. In the firepit were the charred remains of something, an unidentifiable roast of some sort, long sinced cooked over in the flames. 

Fili shuddered at the chill and the horror of this place. He was cold - so cold - but every stitch of his clothing and armor had long been discarded. The fire was too far away for him to derive any warmth from it. Fili’s empty stomach growled before he could help himself, and he drew his knees to his chest for warmth and to try and quell the agony in his insides.

“Fili!” Kili struggled weakly against the bonds, but it was no use. Bolg had tied his hands behind his back and his ankles together in front of him, and no matter how much he thrashed, he could not get free. He could not get to Fili, even though they were only a few paces away, across the chamber from each other. There was nothing he could do to help his brother but cry out to him, to cry for him. “Fili, please! Fight back!”

“Be quiet, you,” Bolg growled. 

He reached into the fire pit and grabbed whatever had been cooked in it last and tore a blackened piece of meat from a bone. When Kili clamped his mouth closed in defiance, Bolg merely grabbed the dwarf’s little nose and held it until Kili reddened with the breathlessness and finally gasped, desperate for air. Bolg stuffed the meat into his mouth and held his hand in place over Kili’s lips until the dwarf swallowed.

“See,” Bolg said with a grin to Azog, “That’s how to shut them up.”

He grabbed the remaining scraps and bits of dead meat from the fire pit. There were still several pounds of the meat, and he gave it a sniff. He wrinkled up his nose at the tragic way that the goblin’s had treated their dinner. The man flesh was still fresh enough, but the meat had been blackened from the careless rotisserie, and by now, it was cold and mostly consumed down to gristle. He glanced over at Kili, who was looking green, and Bolg almost felt sorry for him, having to eat that. Almost.

He tore another chunk of meat from the carcass and forced it down Kili’s throat. When Kili retched on it, Bolg merely laughed and stuffed his prize with more meat.

“Man-flesh,” Bolg said as Kili howled in useless protest. “Not to worry, sweetling. You’ll come to enjoy the taste soon enough.”

Azog watched Bolg’s antics in mild amusement before turning back to his own pet. He was still fascinated with Fili’s hair, and he stroked it, enjoying the way firelight brought back some of its original sheen. He could feel Fili silently battling with his own body, which was no doubt telling him to pull away from the intrusive hand. 

Fili was shaking with dread. He wanted desperately to rush to his brother’s aid, but he was wise enough to know that he could not fight even a single orc, injured as he was and without a weapon, let alone the two of them. He could not afford to wind up like Kili, bound and helpless. One of them had to be free if they were ever going to get out of this, and with Kili in ropes, being forced to eat whatever that blackened meat was, it had to be Fili.

That did not mean that Fili had any idea of how they were going to get out of there. His body was in agony, and the orcs who held them captive showed no signs of letting up on their cruel game.

“Do you hunger too, dwarfling?” Azog asked him with a dark chuckle.

“No, thank you.” Fili tried to keep his voice strong, but it was surprisingly hoarse from being repeatedly throttled. “I’m quite... full.”

“Well-mannered, that one,” Bolg jibed back at Azog, laughing. “Think he’ll say his pleases and thank yous when you’re drilling him with your cock?”

As in response to the suggestion, a wave of pain coursed up through Fili’s body and left him aching, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. How he wished more than anything to be free of this, free from this place with its terrors and its agony. Anywhere but here. But thinking about it nearly made tears come, and he didn’t want any of them to see him cry. Being unable to help his brother -- the powerlessness -- hurt more than any injury Azog could inflict.

“Fili!” 

Helpless, Kili cried for his brother between the forced mouthfuls. His stomach roiled inside him with every bite, but as sickened as he felt, he was wholly unable to rid himself of the foulness. Even when Bolg had finished with the carcass and finally, finally left him alone, the churning of his too-full insides and the sense of shame over what he had just done burned like fire in his face.

Fili’s guts were churning with nausea from what he was witnessing, but also with a deep-seated desire to kill Bolg, then Azog. Both carried a few weapons, of varying sizes. If only he could get his hands on one. Would he, he wondered, live long enough to use it... or would he and his brother die here to be eaten in this Mahal-forsaken place?

As if Azog could read his mind, the pale orc closed his hot hand around Fili’s ankle and dragged him possessively towards him. Fili stifled his cry of pain as Azog pulled him in close so that his back was pressed tight against Azog’s stomach, and Azog’s strong arm was secured around Fili’s chest and upper arms, pinning them in place.

 _As if I could move much anyways,_ Fili thought bitterly. His shoulder throbbed in response.

“Sleep now, pet,” Azog ordered him, in a hushed tone. “You can’t help him.”

Azog was warm - incredibly warm - against Fili’s cold skin. Surrounded by that heat, he felt his abused muscles finally relax as the exhaustion and trauma of the day caught up with him. Encased by one arm, the dreaded claw inches from his face, he truly was going nowhere except perhaps to sleep, but even that eluded him, for his pain and the sound of Kili’s distress kept him there, anchored in the nightmare.

Bolg glanced over at his father, curled up like some massive sadistic child with a toy he planned to dismember. He grinned as Azog drifted off into a snoring slumber and Bolg turned back to his own pet. 

Kili had gone quiet.

Gently, Bolg lifted Kili’s face upwards with little more than a touch on the chin. Kili’s eyes were closed and his tear-streaked features had gone slack in resignation. Bolg leaned in and slithered his tongue over the corner of Kili’s mouth, lapping away a streak of grease left there from the feeding.

“Still hungry, my pet?”

“NO!” 

Kili jerked himself back out of Bolg’s sickening embrace, but the orc’s hungry mouth and hands followed him. His blood seemed to curdle in his veins as he felt the orc fingers on his shirtless torso - squeezing him, caressing him, fondling what little bit of excess he carried around his middle.

He’d had lovers’ hands on him before, but not like this. Never like this. Never had he thought that the small bit of softness - hardly anything for a dwarf, really - would so quickly become the singular source of humiliation and exploitable vulnerability. Now, as Bolg sank his fingertips into Kili's flesh until the touch reached the muscles beneath, Kili’s skin seemed to crawl with the mockery of sensuality, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the groping.

Kili’s sounds of distress permeated Fili’s thin sleep. Though he desperately needed the rest, his brother’s cries kept him conscious, and wouldn’t allow him to rest fully. The way that Bolg seemed drawn to touch his brother’s stomach -- _pet_ it -- revolted Fili in its tenderness.

But it did no good to struggle now. Azog might take him again if he tried to fight, and he would bleed out if that happened. He focused on the feel of his breath in his lungs and used it to focus his thoughts on how they would get free. There had to be a way. And it was he, Fili, who would save them.

As if in response to Fili’s promise, Kili howled out again, punctuating Fili’s shroud of darkness with his despair. Fili managed to get his eyes open just in time to see Bolg crouch down behind his brother and rub his hands possessively down Kili’s torso, squeezing as he went, until one of those massive paws disappeared down the front of Kili’s trousers and began to stroke.

From his place in Azog’s clutches, Fili could only watch in revulsion as Bolg brought Kili to a swift completion. The stain spread through the front of Kili’s trousers and, defeated, Kili slumped in his bonds as Bolg pressed his messy hand to Kili’s mouth, forcing him to clean up the seed with his lips and tongue.

Then, mess cleaned up, Bolg left Kili alone.

The corpulent beast struggled his way back out through the entry of the cave, muttering something to himself about goat milk and farmer’s daughters - Fili couldn’t be sure. His stomach lurched inside him at what he knew was to come next.

Kili had heard it, too. He shuddered in horror and he locked his eyes on Fili’s. Separated by the fire and less than a twenty foot distance, it was as if the brothers were on different ends of the earth, and there was nothing they could give each other in that moment but their silent, shared despair at what was to become of them.

 _We’ll survive this,_ Fili thought, wishing Kili could hear his mind. _Stay strong, brother... Don’t give in. Don’t let them break you._

“Kili...” Fili murmured.

Kili gave a soft, miserable sniff. “Fili...” he whispered. Then in Khuzdul, he confessed, “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“We’re going to live,” Fili said, too soft for Azog to hear him. “I swear to you, we’ll make it through this.”

Fili meant the words with the entirety of his being, but when Kili closed his eyes again, resigning himself to his fate, Fili was not sure that he could keep that oath.


	4. Escape

Fili awoke many hours later, stiff and sore from his confined position on the cave floor. Azog, in his slumber, had relaxed his grip. Fili made note of this before his eyes began searching for his sibling. 

Kili rested, slumping in the ropes that bound him. Left alone for hours, there had been nothing to do but watch his brother. Watch Fili sleep fitfully in the clutches of that beast, wish that there was something he could do to get free of his ropes. But there was nothing he could do. Bolg had bound him fast, and no matter how he twisted and squirmed, he could not slip the bonds. All he could do was watch in slow, gnawing dread.

His hope rushed back to him when he saw Fili stir, then look up. Blue eyes alert, spirit unbroken. Kili gasped, overjoyed.

Fili quickly raised a finger to his lips to silence his brother. He took a moment to assess his situation. Bolg was nowhere in sight. Azog snored steadily beside him. He realized that he had enough room, if he was cautious, to slip out from under Azog’s beefy arm and move to his brother’s side. Ever so slowly, he used his feet to push himself forward and out from under Azog’s limp appendage. 

When he stood to make his way to his bound sibling’s side, Fili realized indeed just how sore his muscles were from his abuse at Azog’s hands. His punctured shoulder ached dully. Every step caused his muscles to contract painfully inside his body. But still, he had to get them out of there. Their lives depended upon it. 

“Kee,” he breathed, voice little more than a sigh, as he lay his forehead against Kili’s with relieved affection. “Going to untie you.” He wasn’t quite brave enough to go after the dagger he’d seen tucked in the pale orc’s boot, but his cold, trembling fingers reached for the knots at his brother’s ankles and began working them free. They were true and tight, and each movement of his left hand shot agony through his arm, but as moments passed, Fili was finally able to loosen the knots enough to free Kili’s feet.

Kili gave a sharp, pointed hiss at Fili, and when his brother looked up, Kili furiously jerked his head backwards his shoulder, and demanded in a hoarse whisper, “Get the hands, the _hands_!”

As Fili quickly moved to untie Kili’s wrists, he suddenly heard the soft sound of movement in the cavern beyond. When he went still to listen he could just make out the unmistakable huffing and puffing of that massive orc, still distant, on his way back to the cave.

“Aulë, no!” Fili groaned softly, laying his forehead on his brother’s shoulder in despair. Surely by now the fleshy orc would be blocking their escape route. Regardless, he had to try. Hands shaking in his haste and fear, Fili managed to undo the final knot.

Kili shot to his feet and grabbed Fili’s hand and bolted for the exit. He cringed as he heard Fili cry out in pain, and immediately Kili realized he’d grabbed the wrong hand - the left hand - and the sudden movement had jostled the wounded shoulder. He spun back and quickly caught Fili as he stumbled, berating himself for his stupid, stupid hastiness. _By Mahal,_ could he do nothing right?

“I’m so sorry!” Kili gasped. He grabbed his trembling brother around the waist and slipped under Fili’s right shoulder, supporting his weight.

“Pay it no mind, nadad,” Fili hissed through gritted teeth. “Let us hurry… he’s coming!”

Kili forced his feet to move. They moved as quickly as they could through the tunnel out of the cave. Kili winced as he felt Fili staggering next to him, naked body trembling with the abuse that Azog had heaped upon him.

“I’ve got you, Fee.” Kili whispered. As they emerged from the cave, he quickly glanced around, searching for a sign of the exit.

“We have to keep going,” Fili insisted, although not very convincingly. The movement had reopened the fresh wounds inside him, and now his body was beginning to pulse in deep, agonized pain. Still, they had to keep moving. Keep moving or die in this wretched place. “Which way? I-I don’t remember how we got here.”

“Oh no…” Kili looked around, frantic. “I don’t remember, either!”

“We need to get distance between ourselves and _them_ ,” Fili asserted.

Kili made to say something, but then he stopped. The blood drained from his face as he heard it. Bolg’s voice. He was singing to himself.

“No,” Kili gasped. “He’s coming back!”

Immediately, Kili turned and took off down the winding caverns to his left, away from the sound of their impending doom, dragging Fili along as best he could.

“Kili!” Fili hissed in pain, grabbing onto the cave wall for support. “You should save yourself! I’m only slowing you down.”

“I won’t leave you!” Kili clenched his teeth and stopped running just long enough to try and hoist Fili onto his back, but Fili gave a low growl and shoved him back.

“No, just go!” Fili cried. “Nadad, please!”

“OY!”

At the sound of Bolg’s familiar voice, Kili’s dread shot like ice through his blood. Immediately, he grabbed Fili’s right hand and took off running, sprinting as hard as he could down the cavernous tunnels.

Fili winced in pain at the running and regret for not taking the dagger from Azog’s boot. If only he had some sort of weapon to give them a fighting chance against their larger, stronger captors. But they were helpless now to do anything but run.

They didn’t get very far.

It wasn’t long before the massive weight slammed into Fili and Kili, throwing them to the ground. Fili’s hand slipped from Kili’s grasp and Kili went down hard, into the sandy, gravelly dirt on the cavern floor. He recovered quickly, only to see that Bolg had returned and was now towering over him. The orc wore a lecherous grin, and the carcass of a freshly killed lamb was tossed over his rounded shoulder.

Fili managed to scramble to his feet between their captor and his younger brother. Swaying ever so slightly, he menaced, “You stay away from him, you loathsome creature!” His eyes widened at the sight of the poor, dead animal that Bolg carried.

Bolg gave a loud chuckle and slammed the lamb into Fili like a club, knocking him from his feet. 

“Stay down,” he growled as he planted a heavy boot on Fili’s chest. He turned, smile broadening, to look at Kili. “Where you think you’re running off to, pet?”

“Kee, run!” Fili hollered at him. “Get out!”

Kili ignored his brother’s commands. The sight of Bolg pinning Fili to the stone struck something deep and protective inside him. Coward though he was, Kili would never, ever sink to abandoning his kin. 

He grabbed for the first thing he could use as a weapon. His fist closed on a rock and he threw it at Bolg’s fat face. The orc ducked the projectile and swung the dead lamb at Kili, smacking him hard and sending him sprawling back to the stone.

When Kili fell, Bolg slammed himself down on his prize, pinning him in place. Beneath his prodigious weight, Bolg’s footing gave way and he felt the injured, yellow dwarf scramble out from under him. No matter. He had the one he wanted. 

“No!” Fili gasped, getting weakly to his feet, fists pounding ineffectually against Bolg’s immovable flesh. “Get. Off. Him!”

“You get back, filth!” Bolg bellowed. “Father! They’ve escaped!”

Azog’s sudden bellow of rage was distant and terrifying to Fili’s ears.

Fili seized one of Kili’s hands with his good arm and tried to pull him out from under Bolg’s girth, but given his injuries and Bolg’s sheer size, it was impossible. Then he saw it - the scimitar strapped to Bolg’s belt. Fili reached for the grip and pulled the sword free with a metallic screech. He raised the weapon to deal Bolg a killing blow when suddenly, he felt a painful jerk at the back of his skull as Azog grabbed a handful of his hair and lifted him off his feet.

Fili swung the weapon in Azog’s direction, unable to reach him, until he went for the arm holding him off the ground. The blade sliced halfway through the orc’s forearm and and a thrilling spray of black blood splattered across Fili’s face. Azog roared in pain and flung Fili across the cavern and into a rock wall. He hit hard, shoulders smacking into the stone, and blinding pain shot across his chest. The scimitar tumbled from Fili’s grasp and he let out a pitiful whimper of pain as he slumped against the base of the wall.

“Fool!” Azog castigated his son. “You were supposed to be watching them while I rested, and instead you go off hunting farm animals?” He kicked the scimitar out of the reach of Fili’s blindly outstretched arm. 

Bolg glowered up at his father. “I was going to share this with you,” he grumbled, gesturing with the lamb, “But obviously you don’t appreciate my efforts. I’ll just eat this whole thing by myself. And you don’t get any of it, not one scrap.” Then his lecherous grin returned. He looked down at his prey - the sentient one - and pressed a wet kiss to Kili’s beardless cheek. “Oh, but you, my pretty one - you’ll get as much as your little belly can handle, and then some.”

Kili’s stomach lurched inside him at the thought. He was already so full, painfully so, and at the feel of Bolg’s hand upon his swollen belly, he sickened and tried to squirm free from beneath his beefy captive. But for all his struggling and his soft groans of exertion, he couldn’t help but feel like a bleating sheep, crying out against the inevitable slaughter, unable to escape the fate of being livestock.

At the sounds of Kili’s distress, Fili pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall, gasping in pain. Blood trickled between his fingers as he clutched at the reopened puncture wound on his shoulder. He was useless against the pair of orcs, especially unarmed and unclothed and bleeding once again.

The dreadful thought that he was going to die here shuddered through his broken body like a cold wave.

Azog crouched down in front of Fili and grabbed him by the chin. “Don’t you die on me,” he warned. “Else I’ll have Bolg feed you to your brother.”

“Fili, no!” Kili gasped, growing desperate. “You leave him! Let him go!”

“And what, deprive my father of his pleasures?” Bolg laughed. He hauled his big self up and sat down heavily upon his thrashing captive and glanced from one dwarf to another. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Father, would you let me play with your pet?”

Azog glared at his presumptuous, selfish son. “You’ll not lay a hand on him, you fat lech.”

“No,” Bolg said, dismissively. The skinniness of that particular dwarf revolted him. “But look at them. They love each other. Think of what we could do with that.”

“How despicable,” Azog sneered. “Love, blegh. What pathetic sorts of creatures sink to love anyone but themselves?”

As the orcs bantered, Fili locked eyes with Kili and tried to silently calm him.

Kili tried to stay focused on his brother, but then Bolg closed a fist around his throat and got to his feet, hauling Kili up. It didn’t matter how much Kili thrashed. Bolg merely tossed Kili like a rag doll over his shoulder once again, and he lurched back towards the cave, past Azog and Fili, and motioned for them to follow.

Azog reached down latched his good hand in Fili’s tangled hair and he forcing the dwarf to march ahead of him back to their prison. Fili could only watch as Bolg skulked, panting along ahead, with the dead lamb and his struggling brother slung over either shoulder. He had a sinking feeling that once the orcs got the two of them back into that room, they might never leave again. But, even with his dying breath, Fili would keep trying to escape their clutches.

Once they got back to the chamber, Bolg tossed his meals to the floor and kicked the dwarf in the groin to still his squirming. Kili groaned in pain and curled in on himself, immobilized for the time being. Bolg went to the firepit and stoked the flames and pulled a filleting knife from a sheath tucked under a flap of armor. He settled into a merry song about roasting elves and went to work on the lamb, and soon enough, he had it ready for the cooking.

Fili’s earlier nightmare where he’d seen his brother dead on a spit came quickly to the front of his mind. He found it hard to breathe. The smell of flame and the sound of crackling flesh sickened him. He squirmed, but Azog did not release his iron grip on his hair. He wasn’t about to let his pet escape again.

“They are foolishly brave little creatures,” Azog remarked to his son as the younger orc turned the lamb on the spit. “They almost got the best of you.”

Bolg scowled at his father. “I wasn’t the one who fell asleep.”

“Give your pet a proper fucking, and perhaps you too will be tired enough to wish for a nap,” Azog said with a cruel smile. But as he thought on it, satiated though he was, already he was eager for another go at his golden pet. He felt his arousal stiffen and he pulled the dwarf towards him so that it could feel against its flesh what lay in store. The blond tensed at the contact, clearly horrified at the implication.

“I’ll fuck him soon enough.” Bolg glanced back at his sumptuous little plaything. Kili was still curled on the ground, clutching at his groin. Bolg must have kicked him harder than he’d thought. He let go of the spit and went to Kili and pulled him into his arms. “Did I hurt you, pretty one?”

Kili shuddered in pain as Bolg gently reached down and cupped his limp, injured maleness in a big fist. 

“You’re fine,” Bolg whispered. “But maybe a bit of roasted lamb will make you feel better.” Bolg slid his hand up over Kili’s abdomen and pinched the layer of fat he found there. He closed his eyes and imagined how delightful the little dwarf’s body would feel after weeks of being fattened, how generous and round and delicious the young, already soft flesh would be. “Think about how good it will feel, eating to your heart’s content. Most creatures die skinny and starved if they are taken captive. But you’ll be lucky. You’ll die fat and happy. Would you like that, you sweet little thing?”

Kili sickened at the words in his ear and the violating hands upon his body, at the threat in Bolg’s voice. He would rather die now than weeks later, after the torture. And it _was_ torture, having Bolg fondle him like a lover, caressing him sensuously, squeezing him like this. He suddenly hated his body, his dwarvish stockiness and the natural curve to it. If only he’d been skinnier. If only he’d been muscled, like Fili, maybe he’d die quickly, instead of weeks from now, after being fattened up. Like a wretched pig for the slaughter.

When Kili closed his eyes, the hot tears that had welled in his eyes slipped unbidden down his face. He swallowed, miserable, as Bolg lapped them up with a fat tongue. 

“Such supple, pretty features,” Bolg whispered, pinching Kili’s cheek with his fingers. “Oh, so soft…”

“Don’t you touch him!” Fili cried out, heedless of his own peril. Repulsed at the way the orc’s hands and mouth moved so freely over his brother’s flesh and the hungry glint in Bolg’s eye, Fili longed to pick up a sword and run the beast through. But his strength was starting to leave him. He had not been fed since their capture, and though he found himself mostly relieved that that was the case, if he didn’t get some food and water soon, he’d be unable to defend his brother at all against Bolg’s caresses and violent outbursts. He feared nothing more than seeing his brother in danger and being unable to help him. If anything could bring the tears Azog wished to witness, it would be Kili in pain.

Azog chuckled, amused at Fili’s defiance, and he found himself eager to bury himself inside his pretty toy once again. 

“Now then, pet,” Azog said to his prize. He yanked Fili towards one of the piles of bedding, all the while prodding him with his erection. Letting the dwarf know his intentions. “Let us see how your cleft is healing.”

Fili was _not_ healing. If anything, he knew, their recent escape attempt had only worsened his wounds. He forced himself to bear the pain as Azog forced him to the ground, on his stomach, and kicked his legs apart. 

Azog smiled at what he saw. The golden prince was torn slightly and bleeding, and Azog’s dried seed still lingered, crusted to the puckered entrance. When Azog pressed a finger into the wound, everything tensed and his toy gave a soft, involuntary gasp of pain. 

“Blood is a wonderful lubricant, yes?” Azog reasoned, speaking in his pet’s ear but loud enough so that the other dwarf could hear him. At this point, he was so painfully aroused by Fili’s struggling that there was little that could be done to stop him from taking what he wanted.

“P-Please…” After the last incident, Fili dreaded the pain that was to come. “Don’t do this. I’d rather be dead.”

“And where’s the fun in that? It feels ever so much better when you fight back,” Azog laughed darkly. He slipped his finger deeper into his pet, marveling in the pulsing heat. The dwarf grunted, then gasped, cold sweat forming on his flesh.

“No!” Kili managed to cry out. He gritted his teeth and struggled against Bolg’s oppressive hands, but the orc held him firm. “You leave him!”

“Shh, soft little princeling.” Bolg squeezed Kili’s hindquarters and reveled in the ever-so-slight fleshiness. He felt himself stirring at the touch as his fingers pressed into the supple body. “Oh, nice… I could bury my cock in this soft arse. I wonder… Would you like that?”

Fili tried to find strength in his brother’s eyes, hoping against hope that Bolg wouldn’t make good on his threats to rape Kili. He’d rather be raped a dozen times over than see Kili suffer the indignity, the pain - oh, the excruciating pain. 

As if he could read Fili’s mind, Azog crooked his probing digit inside Fili’s agonized passageway. The action caused a terrible and unexpected reaction in Fili. Through the haze of intense pain, he felt a buzz of pleasure. No. _No!_

The humiliation burned like fire in Fili’s cheeks.

Kili swallowed and gripped the orc’s armor as the groping hands dug into him. He forced himself to stare at Fili, forcing himself to remember that as bad as he had it, Fili had it worse. Fili had it so much worse.

“You take me,” Kili blurted out. When Azog glanced over at him, he shouted it. “You take me, and you leave him!”

Bolg bellowed out a laugh and pressed a kiss to Kili’s neck. “You honestly think that Father would want you, fat little thing? No one wants you but me.”

Fili shook his head at Kili soundlessly. “It’s all right, Kili. It hardly hurts at all,” he tried to assure his brother as the pale orc’s finger nearly split him in two. Then he spat out, “The fat one was right. Azog’s cock really is little.”

At the pet’s insult, a sudden rush of humiliation and anger welled up inside Azog. He bellowed furiously and jerked his hand out of his prize. Without any further warning, he grabbed hold of his big-enough cock and shoved it into the dwarf’s bloodied passageway. When Fili gave a sound of excruciating pain, it was like sweet music that urged Azog to thrust, hard. He obliged his insubordinate and insulting little pet and fucked him as hard as he could.

“Not such a small cock... when it’s ripping you open. Is it?” Azog closed his eyes and reveled in the tight, pulsating grip of Fili’s passageway, the slipperiness from the blood and the seed he’d planted earlier, and he imagined digging so deep into this little dwarf so as to rend him in two, to rip him open from the inside out and to leave him gutted, bleeding out. “I’ll kill you with this cock.”

Fili didn’t want to cry out for his brother, but it slipped out of his mouth when he screamed with the growing agony, as if Kili could somehow escape Bolg’s grasp and rush to his aid. 

“NO!! Fili!” Kili began to sob.

The look of terror in Kili’s eyes, and not his own pain, was Fili’s undoing. 

Tears came, just as Azog has predicted. Shame battled with pain and fear. They were going to die here, and Fili was powerless to keep that from happening.

As the orc rutted into him, Fili’s body went limp and his eyes fell closed. His breath evened out, as if in preparation for death. He could feel the blood pooling on the back of his thighs. Little by little, his thoughts grew hazier, as if his sense of understanding, of mind, of self, was being pulled out of him with each agonizing thrust.

 _He’s going to kill me,_ was Fili’s last coherent thought, before he mercifully lost consciousness.

Kili screamed for his brother at the top of his lungs as Fili went still beneath the pale orc. He scrambled, desperate, to get to his brother, to save him, to do anything to get the violence to stop. But there was nothing he could do. His captor held him firm, chuckling softly and cooing Kili with degrading, insulting words that Kili no longer understood.

All he knew was that Azog was fucking his brother. Azog was killing him.

“Move, damn you!” Azog bellowed. He smacked Fili hard as he raped him. “Fight back!”

“You’re killing him!” Kili cried. “Please, leave him alone!”

Azog grimaced and slowed, just long enough to reassess his pet. He was close, so close. But the dark-haired dwarf was right. Fili was growing pale from the blood loss, and everything was torn apart. He growled and reluctantly pulled himself free and closed his good hand on his blood-stained cock. He imagined the blond dwarf writhing beneath him, and to the fantasy, he jerked himself to completion in a few swift, well-timed strokes. His seed splattered across his golden pet’s back and hair. 

As Azog came down from the peaks of orgasm, he looked down at himself. His bloodied hand. The blood on his deflating, shamefully small cock. The blood that soaked the back of Fili’s thighs and the now-shredded entry into the tight and oh-so-little body.

Azog frowned. Maybe he’d taken it too far. Maybe this dwarf would die before he’d had his fill.

And then what was to become of the little prince? He’d be cooked on a spit and split between Azog and Bolg and, no doubt, at Bolg’s insistence, the second dwarf. Without his brother, the dark-haired plaything would resign himself to his fate, and not even Bolg would find much joy in a pet who didn’t at least fight a little for his pitiful, pathetic life.

He shook his head and got to his feet and turned to his son. “Bring that one here,” he said, quiet.

Bolg turned to his father, puzzled. “But I wanted to play with him some more,” he protested, petulant. “He’s so soft and pretty.”

“Let the whelp tend to his brother’s injuries,” Azog ordered his son. “It’s far too soon for either of them to die on us, is it not?”

Bolg gave a low, disgruntled growl and turned back to his prize. He had to admit, Father was right. The chubby little dwarf had tears streaming down his face, and his entire attention was fixed upon his brother. If the golden prince died, the second one would just give up.

There was something sweet in the resignation of brokenness. But something was sweeter in the process of the breaking.

“Fine,” Bolg agreed at last. He casually tossed his pet off his lap, and as Kili scrambled to his feet, Bolg gave him a slap on the hindquarters, reminding him that this was only temporary. That the soon-to-be soft arse belonged to him.

Bolg watched as Kili dropped to his knees beside his injured brother. He didn’t really pay attention to what his pretty dwarf was doing. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he was patient, and that unlike Father, he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Soon enough, it would happen. Soon enough, he’d have that little dwarf fattened up to his liking. And soon enough, Bolg would be able to get it up enough to take what he’d already claimed.


	5. Departure

Kili’s hands trembled as he tentatively touched his brother’s still, injured body. Fili’s skin was chilly to the touch, and he did not stir when Kili said his name. 

Kili glanced around fearfully, searching for something to clean the wounds. His eyes fell on a waterskin some paces away, and he reached for it and uncorked it and gave its contents a sniff. The pungent scent of alcohol stung his nostrils. The grog was far from the sterile, boiled water that Oin would have recommended in a situation such as this, but it was all Kili had to work with, and the alcohol would prevent infection. Kili winced as he tenderly, then more methodically, began to clean his brother’s wounds. He was loathe to touch Fili where he’d been raped, but somehow he knew it was an absolute necessity -- otherwise, the infection alone might claim Fili’s life. At the thought, tears began to burn in Kili’s eyes, and it was all he could do to focus on the task at hand instead of thinking of an existence without his brother.

The puncture wound on Fili’s shoulder turned out to be more troublesome than the rape injury. The edges of the two wounds were reddened and noticeably warm to the touch, and when Kili began to clean this area, the pain of it brought Fili back to some semblance of awareness.

“Kee…?” Fili asked weakly, as if he could sense his brother’s presence before he saw him. “Stop. Hurts.”

“Oh, Fili…” Kili bit back his tears and bowed his head until his forehead was resting on Fili’s uninjured shoulder. 

“He let you go.” This was not question, but an observation. 

“Yes,” Kili whispered. He glanced back up at Bolg warily, and a wave of fear coursed through him as the orc grinned and puckered up his fat lips and blew a mocking kiss in Kili’s direction. It was a warning of what was yet to come. Kili winced and turned back to Fili. His eyes kept finding themselves fixed on the wounds, and the sight of the brutality reminded him that his torture had thus far paled in comparison to Fili’s. Ashamed, he said, “I’m so sorry to cause you pain.”

“You are to care for me,” Fili said as the realization dawned on him. “Heal me, so we survive longer.”

Kili shuddered in revulsion. “Oh... they would prolong the torture. How terrible!”

 _Tell them I’m very sick, might die,_ Fili signed in Iglishmêk. _Can kill him if he comes to check on me._

Kili swallowed, trying to focus on what Fili was telling him. _You’re going to kill him?_ he signed.

 _Want to, no weapon,_ Fili returned. _Not strong enough._

Kili winced at the admission. Of course, Fili was in no position to fight. Stripped naked, wounded, and pale and exhausted with the blood loss, the attempt alone might strip him entirely of his remaining strength. Kili blinked furiously, trying to get his thoughts back together for long enough to think about an escape plan, but Fili’s injuries were too extensive, and his own crippling fear of Bolg left him feeling helpless to do anything but give in, to just let the monsters kill him.

 _I don’t know what to do,_ Kili admitted, despairing. He began to weep softly. “I’m so sorry.”

 _Can’t stand to watch him feed you like that, touch you. Mad, foul beast,_ Fili’s eyes were wet with tears. “You didn’t do this to me, nadadel.”

Kili sniffled softly. “I wish I could heal you.”

“I already feel better, Kee,” Fili assured him. It was only half a falsehood. “Just, so… cold.”

Kili gave a soft, pained moan and lay down beside his brother. Carefully, he draped an arm around Fili’s waist and closed the distance between their bodies. Fili’s skin was icy to the touch, and seemed to suck Kili’s warmth out through his chest and belly. 

Kili’s mere presence brought Fili strength, and he interlocked his fingers with his brother's. They lay there for a moment as sensation came back to Fili, but as the physical feelings of his broken body returned to him, his stomach gave another growl and he groaned in frustration. He was hungry, but the last thing he wanted was to have to eat the vile stuff he’d watched Bolg stuff into his little brother’s gullet. 

“You’re supposed to heal him, not cuddle him!” 

Bolg’s bellow cut through the thin veil of comfort that Kili felt in the closeness to his brother, and his insides knotted in fear as he heard the orc lumber to his feet. The sound brought him back to the terrifying reality that they were still here, in the cave, at the mercy of merciless predators. In his growing panic, Kili tightened his grip on his brother, trying to stay anchored to Fili’s presence.

Fili increased the pressure on his brother’s hand to calm him, but the tension of Kili’s frightened grip sent sounds of warning ringing through Fili’s mind. When the massive orc pried Kili away from Fili, the sensation of warning eased up, only to be replaced by anguish at seeing Kili be hauled away, kicking with renewed desperation. He raised himself up on his elbow in an effort to go after them, but a sharp pain tore through his insides at the motion. He knew he could not stand at that moment, even if he had to. He needed time to heal, and that was a luxury that Azog and Bolg were not going to allow him. Not unless it was to torture him further. Which, he knew, was a very real possibility.

“You lie still,” Azog growled, mere paces from Fili. “Can’t have you dying on us now, can we?”

“Not planning to,” Fili retorted, following Bolg’s progress with his eyes. 

Bolg wrestled with his struggling pet, trying to keep from getting kicked in the process of hauling Kili from his brother. The little dwarf was a feisty thing, and it occurred to Bolg just why his father might like it when they struggled. He grinned and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his little plaything squirming against him. Kili’s shirtless torso was slicked with sweat, and Bolg felt himself stirring as he thought about the days and weeks to come - how soft that little body would become, how Kili’s fighting instinct would eventually give way to resignation to his fate of being Bolg’s plaything before the feast. And oh, how blissful that day would be, when Bolg could finally get stiff enough to stick his cock up into that soft, wide arse, reach around and squeeze that plump little belly, and fuck his fattened young dwarf until he spilled his seed inside. He would couple his orgasm with the slitting of the throat, and he would savor the feel of the dying muscles as they clenched around him, then went slack as the pet died, opened at both ends. His mouth began to water at the thought, but his frustratingly impotent cock barely began to stiffen.

“You’ll taste so sweet, little dwarfling,” Bolg cooed. He licked Kili’s cheek and relished his wail of disgust. “Just a few weeks, I think. Yes, and then this” - he stuffed a fingertip into Kili’s navel and pinched the bit of fat he found there - “will be perfect and soft, and you’ll be ripe for the plucking.”

A sickly wave of horror washed through Kili, coursing up from where Bolg squeezed him. He shuddered uncontrollably as the visions of being plucked - so obvious and horrible a euphemism - played out before his eyes and through his body as if it were already happening.

Fili’s hatred of Bolg burned in his empty stomach. His skin crawled with revulsion as the corpulent creature actually smiled at Kili's torment. As much as he loathed Azog for his treatment, he couldn’t bear to see Kili suffering; if anything would break him, it would be to see Kili defiled. As hunger, adoration and lust played over Bolg’s revolting features, Fili made a vow to his brother and to himself that Bolg would die, and soon. But as much as Fili wanted to yell out at the foul Bolg, to provoke him into a fight so that Fili could kill him, he would not - could not - speak up for fear of further retribution against himself. He was shaking with the blood loss, and his reality was hazy. But more than anything, he needed to regain his strength if he wanted any hope of making his fantasy of killing that odious creature a reality.

Adding to Fili’s mounting concerns was the fact that the ever present chattering of the goblins was becoming both closer, louder and more threatening. 

“- more of us than there is of them.”

“Easy enough to steal those stinking dwarves -” 

Surely Bolg and Azog were aware of the danger they might be facing. The mountain was filled to the brim with goblins. What chance would two orcs, albeit powerful ones, stand against them if they decided to revolt? 

And what were the chance of Kili and Fili escaping Goblintown alive for a second time in so many days?

Bolg, too, seemed to hear the goblins. He gave a start and went still as he heard the voices outside the cavern. He slammed his dwarf to the ground and pinned him in place with his foot as he listened, concern growing as the familiar sound of the goblin rabble grew louder.

“Are you going to let them take him from you?” Fili taunted Bolg. “Take _us?_ We killed their king. They aren’t too happy with us right now.”

Azog grunted. The sound was noncommittal, but his tone was decisive. “We must leave,” he told Bolg. “The dwarf speaks the truth. We have worn out our welcome here.”

Bolg pouted at his father. “But how am I to feed him on the road?” he whined as he kicked Kili in the belly.

“There’s more food to be had out there than in this stinking cave!” Azog chastised him. “Gather your belongings.”

Grumbling, Bolg quickly picked Kili up by the hair and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Let me go!” Kili howled. He pounded his fists against his captor, and it suddenly dawned on him that it was he - not a weapon, nor any other thing - that Bolg had grabbed when Azog had said _belongings._ The idea of being a possession hit Kili like a punch to the stomach. Kili was a person, not a thing. Not some wretched beast to be reared until it was ready for the slaughter. But the very real situation at hand was proof of his sudden enslavement, and he despaired at the realization that the only way he would ever escape this bondage was to die. And from Bolg’s seeming patience, sweet death would be long in coming.

Kili let out a soft sob of misery and hung his head as Bolg hauled him away, out of the cave.

Fili watched Bolg drag Kili from the cave in growing worry. He half expected Azog’s big meaty hand to close around his throat at any moment, or, worse yet, the dreaded claw to pierce his flesh and drag him out of the cave. But surprisingly, after Azog had dressed himself, strapped on his weapons and gathered a rucksack together, the giant orc grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet.

Fili wavered unsteadily for a brief moment before the white orc leaned in to grab him around the thighs and easily hoisted him over his shoulder, in much the same way as Bolg carried Kili. The position put pressure on his aching stomach, but the treatment was much kinder than Fili had anticipated. If only they were to have their clothing returned to them. Fili’s shame burned on his cheeks… or perhaps he was running a fever. In the pain, he could no longer tell.

The only hope he had was in the prospect of being taken outside. Perhaps Uncle and the company had returned, and were searching for them at this very moment. Perhaps they would yet be rescued by their kin. _Or perhaps,_ he thought briefly, _there will be no one to save us. No one but ourselves._ Blearily, he looked around for something to aid him in getting free. His hopes rushed back to him as he caught the glint of a dagger at Azog's belt, and quickly he gauged the distance between his dangling arm and the blade, making sure not to move too much lest he injure himself further. 

Azog grunted as his golden prize seemed to struggle, albeit weakly, in his grasp. He grinned. At least this one still had fight left in him. And oh, how Azog liked the ones with fight.

He followed Bolg back towards the exit out of the catacombs, shoving the encroaching goblin masses out of his way with his spiked arm. Perhaps there was something to be said for having a weapon as an appendage; after the gruesome slaughter of a few of their companions, the cringing goblins finally got it in their thick little heads that these dwarves belonged to the orcs, and to the orcs alone.

Fili shuddered in revulsion as a few scaly hands made to grab for him as Azog passed through their midst. He was incredibly relieved when they backed off in fear until he saw Azog impale a goblin on his spike. As the little creature died, pain radiated up through Fili’s injured shoulder and his insides, for he too knew how it felt to be gutted.

When they finally came to the exit, Azog found his white warg, right where he had left her. The warg was just inside the mouth of the cave leading to Goblintown, and it was clear from the litter of bones and torn flesh around her feet that she hadn’t been shy about helping herself to a meal of goblin. Azog smiled proudly, and scratched her behind the ears.

Bolg watched his father tend to his furry pet. He scowled and slapped his dwarf across the face as punishment for killing his own mount. Though he was happy to have the dwarf, it was hardly going to be worth the taking once he was halfway back to Dol Gul Dur on foot, chafing and aching from all the wretched walking that the journey would entail.

“And what do you have to look so pathetic about?” Azog growled at his sulking son as he threw his dwarf over his warg's neck and climbed up into the saddle.

“Stupid dwarf killed my warg,” Bolg grumped. He spanked Kili hard on the bottom, and was only mildly heartened by his pet’s humiliated whimper. It was decidedly not going to be pleasant, walking down the mountain with a whiny little dwarf over his shoulder. He pouted and looked enviously at his father’s warg. “It’s not fair. I should just eat the little brat now and carry him down the mountain in my belly.”

As Kili gave a low moan of fear, Azog laughed darkly, wholly amused at his son’s predicament. “You do what you want with it,” he said. “But if you ask me to carry that one, I get to fuck it.”

Bolg scowled at his father, who merely grinned back. How selfish fathers could be sometimes. Without another word, he unslung his toy from his shoulder and dropped Kili unceremoniously to the ground. When the dwarf scrambled to his feet, Bolg kicked him hard in the hindquarters, urging him to move. “You walk. And if you try to run, I’ll eat your brother alive.”

At the threat, Fili should have been afraid, but watching Bolg push Kili around like some farm animal made him burn with a venomous hatred. His fingers itched to yank Azog’s dagger free and gut Bolg with it, to savor the spray of black blood as the despicable creature died at his hand. But when he tried to move, Azog cruelly dug his fingers into the naked flesh of Fili’s backside, reminding him painfully that even if he managed to kill Bolg, there was still Azog, and Fili was still in the nude, in the cruel wild, injured and half-dead. Of the escape attempt, killing the orcs might just be the easy part.

 _No matter,_ Fili thought, even as Azog began to move down the mountainside, with Bolg and Kili in tow. _I will get us out of here, if it is the last thing I do._


	6. Dawn

Gandalf squinted down at the earth beneath Landroval’s wings, searching. At this altitude, he would never see two creatures so small as Thorin’s nephews. The eagle’s sharp eyes would find them first, if they were indeed to be found. But despite the limits of his own eyesight, Gandalf still could not help but look.

From behind him, the rose-colored sunrise illuminated the sky, casting long shadows of trees and hillsides and mountains upon the earth. Also behind him now was Thorin and the company, waiting at the base of the Carrock, where Gandalf had left them two days before in his search for the kidnapped princes.

There was no choice but to find them. Without Thorin’s nephews, all would be lost.

“Where are they? We have left my nephews!” Thorin had cried, after Gandalf had revived him atop the carrock. The king’s dazed, unconscious state had quickly descended into dangerous fury once he had found his sister-sons missing.

“They were taken when we escaped,” Gandalf had said. “There was no chance to grab them without risking the entire company. This quest must continue.”

“To Durin’s Bane with this quest!” Thorin had cried. “All that matters now are their lives!”

“Rest assured,” Gandalf had quickly said, “that I will find them.”

“Damn you, wizard, you _left_ them behind! In the clutches of the Defiler!” Thorin had shoved Gandalf back in growing rage. “How could you!?”

“I will bring them back,” Gandalf had tried to reassure Thorin. “You must wait for my return.”

“I will find them myself!”

“NO!” Gandalf had stopped Thorin with an outstretched hand. “Your injuries are so severe that if you travel now, you may not live to see their safe return.”

The statement had been only half a lie. Indeed, Thorin’s injuries and lack of supplies would hinder the attempt to find Fili and Kili, but it was more that Thorin’s stubborn devotion to his kin could prove disastrous if the princes were not found alive. Or if they were not found at all, for that matter. 

That thought troubled the wizard deeply, for it always pained to see the young and innocent lost. But there was more at stake here than simply two young dwarvish lives. This quest had to continue, and without Fili and Kili alive and returned safely to the company, Thorin, in his grief, might abandon the quest entirely. There was nothing Thorin could do to help. Gandalf needed to do this task alone. 

“Landroval has the sharpest eyes among the eagles,” Gandalf had reassured Thorin. “We will find your nephews, and return them to you here. Make camp in the shelter of the Carrock, and wait for me. I will bring them back.”

Thorin had narrowed his eyes distrustfully, and had bit back the threatening tears. “Do not return without them, or else there shall be war between us. You have my word on this.”

Gandalf had nodded solemnly, understanding the full weight of Thorin’s promise. He had said nothing more, and had left the company atop the Carrock, knowing that there was no solace for Thorin now, nor words of comfort for the king who had lost his heirs. 

And so Gandalf had found himself here, upon Landroval’s back, in search for the lost dwarvish princes. Two days had passed since their disappearance, and by now, his hope of finding them had diminished to little more than faith in a near-impossibility. But he kept his promise and he did not give up his search, fearing that when he found them, it would be in death, and in a crueler fate than even the Makers could imagine.

\- - - - - 

Fili drifted in and out of consciousness, lulled by the undulations of Azog’s warg. Even now, as they rode, Azog kept his massive hand on Fili’s back, holding him in place. The other, more deadly hand was always within a few inches of his face or neck, ready to slay him at Azog’s whim.

 _So cold,_ he thought, shivering as dawn came over the land. He could only hope for warmth when the sun rose. The early morning air was frigid, and he hadn’t a stitch of clothing left. He forced himself to fantasize about a roaring fire, a roasting chicken and steamed potatoes as he drifted in and out of a light slumber, but each time he opened his eyes, he was reminded of his precarious situation, of the terror he shared with his brother, and of the excruciating pain in his body.

He was exhausted, but couldn’t allow himself the luxury of sleep. By now, he cared little about his own needs, for he knew that he was dying, but Kili was still at the mercy of these creatures. Fili didn’t think he deserved the comfort of a ride while Kili was being forced to walk at night over the hazardous terrain. But at least Kili was free, on foot. He could run away if the chance came, fleeing their captors and the death that awaited them. The other part of him was terrified of being alone with Bolg and Azog, knowing full well what they had yet in store for him.

“You could return us to our company,” Fili whispered to Azog, ever the peacemaker. Even the act of drawing breath required a tremendous effort. “A sign of... good faith. It would work to your benefit if war comes, to make allies of the dwarves.”

“Dwarves are not my allies,” Azog hissed. “Dwarves are food, entertainment.” He smacked Fili’s rump and the prince cried out in pain. “I wish nothing but your King’s shame and downfall, pet.”

Kili staggered on in the early morning light, listening in on Fili’s exchange with their captors. Though the long descent they had made down the mountain was tiring -- exhausting, truly, after what they had endured in the cave -- he still had enough wits about him to be caught off guard by Fili’s suggestion. Kili wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard Fili propose an alliance with these monsters, these foul creatures who had slain their kin in battle and had befouled their ancestral halls for centuries, or if in his exhaustion, Fili was starting to lose his wits, mistaking ancient foe for possible future friend.

Or perhaps Fili had something else in mind. Something more clever, something deceitful. Kili didn’t know. His thoughts were sodden from the torment and with the strain on his endurance. He had not suffered even half of what Fili had experienced, and he barely had it in him to do more than just stumble along in mindless, crippling dread.

 _Oh, Fili… you are strong, brother,_ Kili thought, as he swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. _So much stronger than me._

Atop Azog’s warg, Fili shivered as his captor lay the cold iron claw against his flesh to remind him of his place. A rough and painful jostle of the furry mount reminded Fili that though his concerns for Kili were deep, he could not ignore the damage that he himself had endured. Many hours had passed, and he continued to bleed. The blood oozed down his thighs and dripped lazily off the tips of his toes, onto the earth below. Surely, it felt worse than it was. Could he bleed to death from this sort of injury? Would the festering wound on his shoulder be his undoing? Or would Azog opt for something simple, like slashing his throat or bashing his skull against a rock? 

Whatever ending Azog had in store for him, he prayed Kili wouldn’t have to witness it. But even if, by some stroke of good fortune, they escaped their captors, it would take so long for both of them to recover from the horrors inflicted upon them. A part of him wished then for a swift and painless end. 

_But then,_ he thought miserably, _how much worse will it be for Kili to see me perish here?_

Kili would never recover if Fili was to die. Gritting his teeth against the pulsing, threatening unconsciousness, Fili forced himself to stay alert, if only for Kili’s sake.

As the sun finally breached the eastern horizon, it brought with it some warmth, but hardly enough to improve Fili’s physical comfort. He could tell that his captors were beginning to tire, especially the fat one, whose footsteps had become increasingly lethargic with the rising of the sun. When Fili found the strength to raise his head and check on his brother’s condition, he found Kili wan and drawn, plodding along, head bowed, before the corpulent beast.

“Father…” Bolg wheezed, leering up at Azog. “Daylight is coming. We need to stop!”

Azog turned in his seat at the sound of his son’s voice. Sweat was pouring down Bolg’s fleshy features, and after the long night, he looked exhausted and in desperate need for a rest. Azog sneered at his son’s weakness, but quietly admitted to himself that he, too, was beginning to feel the strain on his endurance.

 _Some rest would be good,_ he thought. But he would never admit that out loud to his spoiled son. If they were to rest, Azog needed to maintain the upper hand, and to simply cave to Bolg’s petulance would be to see his power slip from his fingers.

Thinking quickly, Azog glanced from Bolg to the staggering dark-haired dwarf. A sudden, delightfully twisted idea entered his mind, and a slow grin spread across his face.

“We can stop,” Azog said to Bolg, low and quiet. “But there’s a price to pay.”

The ominous tone of Azog’s voice chilled Fili even further. He tried to catch Kili's eye, but his brother only stared at the ground in quiet submission.

“What… price?” Bolg huffed. He wiped a thick hand across his brow and placed his hands upon his knees, breathing heavily.

Kili swallowed and forced himself to listen to his captors, but trying to comprehend their words was like listening to voices through a fog. In the haziness of his senses, he only had a vague understanding that the ordeal was to continue, throughout the day and into the next night, until he and his brother finally met their end. By then, Kili knew, the death would be a mercy.

Tears welled in his eyes as he lifted his eyes to his brother. Fili, bloodied and pale and ruthlessly disheveled, was staring back at him. _I don’t want to die,_ Kili mouthed silently, feeling the sting of his cowardice.

 _It’ll be all right,_ Fili hoped his expression implied. _You’ll see._

Kili nodded, but he looked ready to drop.

Azog’s grin grew wider as he watched the brothers exchange their brief, silent words of comfort. He extended his claw toward Kili and turned his attention back to Bolg. “We rest, but I get that one for the day.”

“No!” The cry left Fili’s throat before he could censor himself.

Kili’s eyes went wide in horror. The lecherous threat in Azog's words had jolted him back to alertness, and he cried out as Bolg grabbed him possessively and drew him in close, greedy hands closing painfully around his waist.

“MINE!” Bolg cried. “You have your own!”

“Or,” Azog smiled coldly at his son, “we can simply continue on. My warg shows no sign of tiring. We’ll reach Dol Gul Dor by nightfall if we do not stop to rest.”

“You…” Bolg gasped. “You mean to travel by daylight? Are you _mad?”_

“No more mad than you,” Azog said. “But you need the rest, fat boy. I don’t. And if I’m to be slowed by a pathetic excuse for a son, I’ll need some recompense.” He sidled his warg closer to Bolg and Kili, watching as the pretty, young dwarf began to squirm in Bolg’s grip.

“You’ll not lay a hand on him!” Fili protested, silently cursing the weakness in his voice. “He’s been through enough! Take me again,” he insisted despite the shudder of pain that coursed through him at the thought.

Azog’s laugh tumbled out in a bellow. He dismounted his warg and fisted his hand in Fili’s sweat-soaked braids and forced the dwarf to meet his eyes. “I would enjoy it,” he sneered. “But it would kill you too soon. Look how pale you’ve become with the blood loss. You’re in no condition to take cock again.”

As Azog let Fili go and spun again towards Bolg, Kili thrashed with renewed vigor in his captor’s arms. Terrified as he was of Bolg, what the younger orc had made him endure was nothing in comparison to what Azog would do to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and recoiled when he felt the touch of cold, clammy fingers upon his cheek, knowing what was to come.

Watching in horror, Fili struggled to push himself off the back of Azog’s warg. The effort shot fire through his punctured shoulder and he cried out in pained frustration. 

“You can toy with that one,” Azog reassured his son as he tossed a nod over his shoulder to the struggling dwarf upon his warg. “Heal him up a bit. He’ll kill himself, thrashing about like that, if he doesn’t get some treatment for those wounds.”

Bolg shook his head furiously. “You’re just going to break this one, too!”

“I promise to be gentle,” Azog said. The lie was clear in the iciness of his eyes.

As the orcs bantered, Kili caught Fili’s eye, and he took his chance. He gave a loud cry and kicked upwards hard into Bolg’s groin. The orc let him go and doubled over in pain, and Kili took off, sprinting for his brother.

“No, you don’t!” Azog yelled. He spun and grabbed Kili by the hair and jerked him back. The dwarf lost his footing and fell back into Azog’s clutches. Azog closed his arms around the struggling prince’s chest and brought his claw up beneath Kili’s chin. 

Kili stilled at the feel of the iron in the hollow of his throat. He gasped as Azog slid his good hand down his naked, sweat-slicked chest, digging sharp fingernails into Kili’s soft skin until the hand disappeared beneath the waistband of Kili’s trousers and closed painfully around his flaccid cock.

“Kili! No!” Fili cried, as the claw threatened to pierce his brother’s throat. Fili finally pushed himself free of the warg and onto his feet, teetering precariously. Azog’s warg turned her massive head and growled at him threateningly, low in her throat. He froze in terror at the sight of rows of razor-sharp teeth, then started slowly backing away, barely keeping his footing as he went. “Don’t do this!” he cried to Azog. Then he turned to Bolg. “You make him stop!”

“Father, you’ll _ruin_ him!” Bolg bellowed. He grabbed Azog’s arm and tried to pry his hand away from Kili’s unharmed body. Azog withdrew his hand from Kili’s trousers and swiftly backhanded his son in the face, sending Bolg reeling.

“You sit your fat arse down and shut up,” Azog sneered. “Take your rest. You no longer have a choice in this matter. If you stay quiet, I’ll make sure not to kill him.”

Kili cried out at Azog’s threat. His pulse roared in his ears, its sound cut only by Fili’s desperate, ragged voice. He shuddered as Azog pushed a foot into the back of his knee, forcing him down to the ground. As the orc pressed down upon him, through his trousers Kili could feel the orc’s stiffening cock against his backside.

“NO!” Kili screamed, growing desperate. He thrashed as Azog tore at the last of his clothing, exposing his skin to the frigid mountain air.

Bolg watched, helpless, as his father set to work laying claim to what was not his. He scowled and stalked towards Fili, wiping the stinging rage from his eyes.

Naked, weak, and helpless without a weapon, Fili looked around him desperately for anything that might aid his cause. All he found was a hungry-looking warg and a furious Bolg. A few rocks lay nearby and he leaned down to take one up in his right hand, hoping to bash in Bolg’s brains.

“If I must watch, then so must you,” Bolg told Fili as he grabbed hold of the golden tresses. He sat down with his back against Azog’s warg and pulled the bloodied, beaten dwarf into his lap and closed his arms defensively around Fili’s muscled body. A shudder of revulsion coursed up through him at the dwarf’s leanness, and he ground his teeth together in anger as he turned his attention back to watch as his father stole his prize.

Fili shivered despite the warmth of Bolg’s body against him. The rock had fallen from his hand in the struggle. Frantically, his eyes searched for another weapon. He would _not_ allow Azog to defile his brother, even if it meant his own death.

Azog paid the others no heed as he forced himself down upon his struggling captive. He felt the surge of arousal as Kili’s half naked body pulsed beneath his, trembling with fear and slicked with sweat. He closed his mouth on the back of Kili’s shoulder and bit down until his fangs punctured the flesh and he tasted the sweet rush of blood upon his tongue. Spurred by Kili’s agonized cry and thrashing, Azog drew a long blade from his belt and sliced it across Kili’s lower back, splitting the skin to let the blood come coursing down between the curved buttocks and over the underside of Kili’s maleness. 

Kili shrieked as Azog cut him open and forced his legs apart. He could feel his own blood trickling down between his thighs. He felt the touch of something like fingers against his opening, and his muscles clenched as a digit began to wriggle its way painfully into him.

“You would let your father taste him before you can?” Fili taunted Bolg, in a desperate ploy. “Are you so cowed by him?”

“Shut up, you!” Bolg smacked Fili hard in the face before pulling the wounded dwarf close. Then he turned his attention back to the other two. 

Even as Bolg watched his father toy with Kili, something stirred inside him. His groin stirred at the thought of seeing his pet writhing in pain, being tortured -- but it was _wrong!_ This was Bolg’s pet, not Azog’s. But still, his body responded just a little, and he could not help but find some enjoyment in the sight of his soft, little dwarf, struggling in vain against the coming violation.

 _Perhaps there is something to Father’s methods,_ Bolg thought. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds of Kili’s squealing, grinding his groin up against the soft, smooth buttocks of the blond dwarf in his arms.

Fili grimaced when he clearly felt the telltale signs of Bolg’s arousal. A burning need to get Kili free had reinvigorated him, and the press of Bolg’s half-stiff cock against his bare skin only added to his vigilance. The move was coupled with a slackening of the beefy arms, and Fili glanced around for something, anything, to use as a weapon to escape. Bolg’s massive boots were directly in front of Fili, between his legs, and from the right one there protruded the hilt of a dagger. If only he could get just the slightest bit of slack from the tenacious arms pinning him, he might be able to reach it.

Kili fought harder as Azog forced a knee between his legs, parting them just enough to position himself. He howled as he felt something blunt and smooth press up against him in that sensitive place, and as Azog bore down, his muscles tightened to resist the violation.

“Please, no!” Kili gasped. The panic coursed through him as Azog began to push, forcing his way into Kili’s body. Burning pain ripped through him as he was breached, and his muscles began to spasm around the violation as Azog pushed into him. The blinding terror washed through him as Azog buried himself to the hilt within Kili’s body and began to thrust.

Bolg relaxed his grip on Fili, enthralled by his father’s attentions to his pet, providing a window of opportunity for Fili. As Kili howled in pain and Azog shot a triumphant look over his shoulder, Fili leapt into action. His hand shot towards the hilt of the dagger, closing around it firmly. Fili flipped the blade adeptly, and with a glance over his shoulder, and without proper time to aim, slashed Bolg across the face. The blade sliced through Bolg's eye and split the fleshy grey skin upon his nose down to the bone.

The fat orc’s hand flew to his face, and as he clasped his eye in pain. Anger mounting, Fili brought the knife slashing down towards Bolg’s right ankle, severing the tendon. Black blood spurted and Bolg cried out in agony.

At the sound of Bolg’s scream, Azog abruptly pulled himself free from Kili and leapt to his feet. 

“NO!” Azog spun and ran for his injured son, then turned on Fili. “I’ll kill you for this!”

“Kili!” Fili cried out. “Run! _Run!_ ” 

As Azog charged Fili, for a brief moment, he was certain of his own death. Azog barked an order in his foul tongue, and the warg leapt forward, maw gaping, ready to close on Fili’s throat. With a fierce cry, Fili readied the dagger defensively and decisively. As the warg closed the distance between them, Fili sidestepped the charge and stabbed the dagger upwards, burying the blade to the hilt in the glowing yellow eye. The warg fell with a pitiful yelp and went still, wrenching the dagger free from Fili’s grasp just as Azog slammed into him.

Fili went down with a shriek, cut off abruptly as Azog buried his spike between his ribs. Azog slammed him to the earth, pinned him in place with his claw, and began to beat Fili to death with his good fist. The sensations thudded through Fili’s body as Azog beat him bloody, snapping bones in his chest and in his shoulders. With each powerful blow, the black edges of Fili's vision pulsed with the pain, sending him hurdling towards what he knew would be his end.

The pain still pulsed through Kili as he tried to reorient himself to the world around him. He willed himself to move, and struggled to lift himself up, but the raw, burning agony that shot up through his insides left him spinning, and he collapsed back to the earth. Here, he could do nothing but listen in numb horror to the thudding sounds of a meaty fist meeting flesh. His senses were thick and hazy, but the fog was cut by the harrowing silence of his brother’s voice coupled with the brutality ringing in his ears. Fili’s soundless resignation spurred Kili on, and with a low groan of agony, he forced himself to his feet, even as thick, foul blood began to spurt out of him.

Heedless of the ripping pain in his body, Kili stumbled towards Azog. He summoned his strength and with a desperate cry, leapt up and onto Azog's back and threw his bound wrists over the orc's head. Kili slipped down Azog’s back as the weight of his body pulled his arms taut around the pale throat. Kili tightened his grip and Azog reared, and the two fell back, away from Fili’s broken frame.

Azog gave a low gurgle as Kili’s arms closed around his neck, squeezing on both sides and cutting off the pulse of blood. He flailed his spiked arm wildly and brought it arcing up over his shoulder and slamming into Kili. The dwarf screeched in pain, deafening in Azog's ear, but the sound began to fade as the strangulation soon muddled his senses. He fought to get the dwarf off his back, but the persistent little creature held on fiercely until black stars began to wink in Azog’s vision. As his consciousness faded, he fell to his knees, and as he gave a last, faint groan, the world went black around him.

As Azog’s weight lifted off him, sensation came rushing back to Fili. The claw had slid from between his ribs with a slick sound, and suddenly Fili had trouble drawing breath. His brother’s pained cry cut through his insensate state, and through a haze of pain, he watched as Azog tumbled to the ground, with Kili clinging to his neck. A blast of foul-smelling breath left Azog’s lungs as he collapsed, and Kili rolled off to the side, gasping.

“Kee,” Fili croaked, “We need to get away...the woods...”

“Come on!” Kili shuddered, pulling himself towards Fili. He closed his hands upon Fili’s arm and staggered to his feet, hauling his brother up with him. “I’ve got you!”

“Ah… gods,” Fili groaned, clutching at the puncture wound on his chest. He felt a strange, agonizing sensation of air flowing between his ribs, and horror shuddered through him as his breath gurgled out through the broken flesh. He leaned heavily upon Kili, unable to will himself to move as Kili struggled away from the fallen orcs and the corpse of the warg toward the trees. “I don’t know how far I can make it, nadad.” His voice was filled with pain, and every breath was like acid in his lungs. “If I fall...”

“No!” Kili cried. “You’re fine!”

“You have to promise... to keep going.” The hand resting on Kili’s shoulder squeezed ever so slightly. “Without the warg, it’ll be harder for them to track us… but we’re leaving a visible blood trail between the two of us.” Fili’s head lolled, and for brief second it appeared as if he might pass out, but he drew in a long, slow breath. “We must go.”

Kili gave a soft moan of assent as he dragged Fili from the clearing. They lurched into the forest, and Kili gripped Fili tightly with both hands as they stumbled through the underbrush. His desperation drove him through the agony in his body, and as they fled for their lives, the sounds of the forest faded into the rushing of blood in Kili’s ears, and Fili’s faint, gasping breath upon his neck.

As the minutes stretched into what seemed like hours, the pain worsened, and Fili struggled to keep hold of consciousness. He was cold, so cold, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to draw breath. His extremities were tingling, and the lightening morning sky seemed to dim with each passing moment.

“You were so brave, Kee,” he told Kili, trying to keep himself alert. “So proud of you,” he gasped.

“Shh,” Kili whispered. “Don’t talk. Just… we’ve got to keep moving.”

Fili nodded weakly, barely able to keep his head up.

Kili winced at Fili’s increasing unresponsiveness. He pushed himself onwards towards the sun, fighting to stay alert and to stave off the throbbing in his belly that threatened to drive him into unconsciousness. Somewhere from the distance, he thought he heard a long, sorrowful cry echoing in the mountains, but he could no longer tell whether his senses reflected reality or some numbing nightmare. 

They struggled along, losing track of time and distance, until Fili felt he might drop. “Nadadith,” he murmured, trying to pull Kili close, “Men lananubukhs... menu.”

“NO!” Kili hoisted Fili up, desperate to keep his brother here in the world. He picked up his pace as best he could, but a sudden jolt of pain through his lower body sent a spasm through his muscles, and his knee buckled, sending him and Fili tumbling to the earth.

As Fili hit the ground, the last of his strength left him. His thoughts were growing muddled, and he wanted nothing more than to simply close his eyes and succumb to his injuries. His breath came in low gasps now, and the pain from his wounds seemed to be fading, as was the cold.

“Fili…” Kili laid down beside his brother and pressed his lips to Fili’s forehead. The skin was clammy beneath his lips, and a pang of despair mingled with the deep, violent ache within his body. Again, he heard the mournful echo of a wail in the mountains, closer now, and briefly he wondered if it was his own voice, an expression of his own sorrow at the hopelessness for their future. “Don’t leave me.”

“Kee,” Fili whispered, feeling for his brother’s hand. “I‘m... dying.”

“No…” Kili closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Fili’s sternum. “I cannot go on without you.”

His answer came in the form of Fili’s breath whistling in and out laboriously, through his mouth and through the puncture wound in his chest. He closed his eyes and gingerly cupped Fili’s cheek in his hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to Fili’s bloodied, broken face.

Fili rolled his head into the warmth of Kili’s palm. “Just… stay with me, nadad, …. until….”

“I will follow you if you leave me,” Kili whispered. “I cannot do this alone.”

“... always believed we might go together.”

Kili sniffed softly, wordless now. He laid down beside Fili, resigning himself to their shared end. As the darkness blanketed his senses, he listened to the ghastly sound of Fili’s gurgling breath and focused on the feel of Fili’s presence against his cheek, the coldness of his brother’s body, and the faint trembling of Fili’s muscles beneath the icy skin. He felt a hand close upon his shoulder.

 _Warm,_ he realized, dimly. The touch was warm. 

“Kili…" The soft, gentle whisper was in his ear. "Udulen an edraith anlen.”

As soon as Kili had heard the familiar and comforting voice, he felt the pain in his body diminish, and his heart was calmed by the whispered Elvish words. The voice continued gently, and beneath him, he felt Fili’s trembling ease, and his brother’s gasping breath began to stabilize. 

Fili dreamed, and in his dream the eagles that had forgotten them days ago, returned. He felt a pair of warm hands slip beneath his knees and shoulders and lift him up onto the smooth, soft feathers. The smell of pipe tobacco surrounded him, calmed him, as did words whispered in a language he’d only heard once or twice before. A warm fold of cloth was pulled around his exhausted, broken body and he drifted away into the black of sleep.

Landroval flexed his magnificent wings and rose into the air, closing his talons gently around Kili. As the eagle lifted him from the earth, the last vestiges of Kili’s consciousness slipped away. When the darkness took him, his last thought was one of comfort that now, at last, they were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Men lananubukhs menu_ \-- I love you (Khuzdul)
> 
>  _Udulen an edraith anlen_ \-- I'm here to save you (Sindarin)


	7. Refuge

As Landroval flew east, towards the morning sun, Gandalf squinted against the brilliant light, and he glanced down briefly to give his eyes rest from the burning brightness of the sunlight. With his eyes dropped he could check on the pale, bloodied dwarf in his arms. Fili lay unconscious, wrapped in the folds of Gandalf's cloak. His skin was icy to the touch, and his complexion was the color of ash. But his breath was steady, if not shallow, and his eyes were closed in calm, untroubled rest. Reassured, Gandalf craned his neck to see Kili, who remained unconscious, clutched in Landroval's talons. When Gandalf noticed Kili's shivering, he directed Landroval downward, into the warmer air of a lower altitude. Once they were nearer to the ground, just above the treeline, Gandalf turned his attention back to the rising sun, and on his destination.

To the east lay the carrock, where Gandalf had left the company days before, promising to return once he had found Thorin's nephews. But now, seeing the tenuous hold with which the lads clung to life, he knew he could not rejoin the company with Fili and Kili like this. Dwarves were strong, he knew -- the torture that the princes had suffered would have killed even the hardiest of men -- but they were not indestructible, and if Gandalf did not bring Fili and Kili to shelter soon, they would likely die, and all hope for the quest would be lost.

And so, when Gandalf saw the rise of the carrock against the horizon, he avoided it, instead heading southeast, towards the house of Beorn. The skin-changer disliked dwarves, Gandalf knew, but he would never turn away the injured, nor those who had suffered enslavement at the hands of orcs. Beorn was now the only hope for Thorin's nephews, for they were in dire condition. But thankfully, Beorn was known for his extensive herb garden, from which Gandalf felt the skin-changer might be able to concoct medicines and heal the lads more quickly than the wizard could do on his own. How he would explain his empty-handedness upon returning to Thorin and the company, though, he did not know. But what choice was there, when any delay might cost Fili and Kili their young lives, and their deaths would bring the quest to a screeching halt?

Worried, and without much of a plan, he looked down again at his unconscious charges, seeking answers. The first sight that caught his eye was the glimmer of blood-stained silver beneath his hand, tangled in Fili's hair. Carefully, Gandalf pulled the metal clasp loose from the snarls and used his thumb to wipe the blood and dried seed from its surface. As he slipped the clasp into his pocket, he immediately knew what to do. Relieved, he turned his attention back to the journey, flying southward past the carrock, and turned east once more. He flew on for hours until the sun had settled into the mist upon the mountains behind him, and he could see his intended refuge, nestled in the trees, promising hope and healing and a brief, needed respite from the cruelties of the world.

\- - - - -

Beorn helped Gandalf lay the two naked, nearly dead dwarves across the kitchen table, keeping the wizard fixed with a disgruntled scowl the entire time he worked. He did not like dwarves, greedy, arrogant creatures that they were. But it was not his way to turn away the injured, and so when Gandalf, his old friend, had appeared from the sky, with the two wounded dwarves in tow, Beorn had invited the wizard in, but had made it clear in no uncertain terms that they were a burden he would only bear so long as needed to get them on their way.

As Gandalf had gently cleaned the dried blood and filth from their bodies, Beorn had disappeared into his garden, harvesting anything and everything that could be of use in healing his two patients. Herbs, roots, and flowers of different healings plants, the bark and sap of the young trees to bind the tinctures, and fresh, clean beeswax and honey, all to be used as needed. If there was one art that Beorn knew particularly well, it was that of healing, and now, he knew he would need all his skill to restore the dwarves to health. 

By the time he had returned to the house to stock his herb cabinet, Gandalf had fully cleaned the two dwarves, and it immediately struck Beorn how _young_ they were. Dwarves or no, these were just lads, far too young to have endured what had happened to them. As Beorn and Gandalf worked to prepare for the healing, Gandalf relayed who they were -- dwarvish princes, from the Blue Mountains -- and what he could piece together of what might have happened to them at the hands of their orc abductors. A thorough examination provided the rest of the information. Beorn, for all his experience in battle, had not seen such savagery in years, and as they began to heal the two lads, he fell into a diligent silence, focusing on the task rather than the thought of what horrors would linger long after the healing was done.

Beorn treated the blond prince, whom Gandalf had called Fili, first. His body ran the gamut from burning up from with infection to chilled from blood loss, and his internal injuries were most troubling. Beorn had spent hours tending the lad while Gandalf had done what he could for the one named Kili. Though the younger brother needed aid for his wounds, Beorn knew, he would live whether treated or left to heal on his own. But the elder... his injuries had nearly killed him, and even despite the best care that Beorn and Gandalf could give, Fili's life still hovered tenuously between the worlds of the living and the dead.

In treating Fili's injuries, Beorn had first bound the puncture wound in the lad's chest with a beeswax-laden bandage that prevented the suction of air into the chest with each thin, labored breath. He had carefully cut into the skin and muscle between the broken ribs and had inserted a hollow straw, boiled in water until clean, to draw out the excess air. Using his own mouth, he pulled the air from Fili's chest, and in doing so, he could taste the foulness of orcish poison mingled with the gaminess of dwarvish blood. Once he had sucked the last of the air and drew only a mouthful of blood, he had quickly spat it out upon the ground, repulsed by the thought that anyone could enjoy the taste of another living creature. But he managed to set his revulsion aside, sealed the wound he had made, and set to work on the other injuries. A strongly medicated poultice lain over the puncture wound in Fili's shoulder set to work on beating the infection. A balm of thyme and powdered yarrow flowers mixed with clean, cool water stopped the loss of blood from the numerous gashes. And eventually, when all of Fili's injuries had been tended and the hours of evening had passed into night and on into the quiet darkness of early morning, Beorn had finally laid Fili upon a bed of clean, warm hay and had covered his nude form in a woolen blanket. Then he waited. There was nothing more to be done in saving the young dwarf's life.

"You say that you found them in the forest," Beorn asked Gandalf, as he wearily scrubbed the blood from his hands with beeswax soap. "What were dwarvish princes doing so far from their halls in the Blue Mountains?"

"Traveling with a company of their kind," Gandalf told the skinchanger, "seeking to renew relations with others tribes. They were overcome by orcs and taken. Their uncle, whom they were traveling with, has a longstanding feud with the orcish leader. If they had not managed to escape, surely they would have been roasted on a spit by now." The wizard shuddered at the image.

"And where is this uncle, if not with you, looking for his beloved kin?" Beorn frowned, laying the back of his hand on Kili's forehead to check for fever.

"He and the rest of his companions were whisked away by eagles during the confrontation. My plan is to go fetch him," Gandalf explained. "I just sought to ensure that the lads were stable beforehand. I knew you would be able to nurse them back to health, Beorn."

"They aren't out of the woods yet, especially that one." Beorn jerked his head in Fili's direction. "I can make no promises. I've done all I can for him. We must give the herbs time to work the infection out of him. And pray to whatever god is listening that it has spared his lungs."

Gandalf nodded grimly. "If Fili dies, his uncle will blame you."

"He should blame himself" -- Beorn curled his lip in disgust -- "for putting their young lives in danger."

"You know the ways of dwarves." Gandalf pulled on his hat and drew his cloak tightly around his shoulders and made for the door.

"Warriors and carnivores, the entire race," Beorn said with a grimace. "I have no love for their kind, Gandalf, but not even these creatures deserve what the orcs have done to them. I will do all that is my power to save their lives so long as you get them out of my house as soon as they can travel."

Gandalf scowled, but understood. He opened the door. "Look for our coming before the week is out." And with that, he disappeared into the darkness beyond, closing the door behind him.

Beorn stared after the wizard for a long while before turning again to the princes. Frowning, he brushed a sweat-soaked lock from Kili's cheek, noting the youthfulness of his features, and the way the warm glow from the hearth danced in hues of gold and orange across his near-beardless face. In the firelight, the lad's dark hair took on a reddish hue, drawing Beorn back to the memories of his own kin, to his little ones, who had inherited their mother's chestnut hair and gentle features. 

_At least they did not make you fight him, boy,_ he thought, suppressing the pain that welled up inside him. _For had you faced your brother in battle, I fear you would have lost. Your ghost would then have haunted his footsteps for all his remaining days, making him wish that I had not saved his life._

Beorn sighed unhappily, and turned away. He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes and made his way to the cattle, picking up his morning duties rather than ruminating on the evils of the world, and the harms dealt by the wicked against the undeserving, whatever their race or kind.

\- - - - -

When Kili awoke, it was as if to a fog. A red haze that settled over everything, penetrating its way into his body, deep and throbbing with his pulse. He gasped, softly, and as his senses returned to him, the pain seemed to sharpen, narrowing to a few distinct places. His entire left shoulder was stiff from the collar bone down to the shoulder blade, and his head thudded with a migraine that beat its way through his skull when he tried to open his eyes. But nothing compared to the stabbing sensation deep inside him, the cramping in the pit of his belly that was agonizing beyond anything he had ever suffered before.

Foolishly, he tried to sit up, and the attempt sent a sharp convulsion up through his body. With a loud, involuntary cry, he collapsed onto his back again, face contorting with the overwhelming sensations.

“Whoa there, lad.” Beorn sat at the cows, drawing milk, and he turned abruptly at the sounds of pain echoing through his house. He got to his feet and wiped his hands on his trousers as he rushed to the dwarf's side, and he slipped a massive arm under Kili’s rump and placed his other hand behind his back. Gently, he slid the weakly protesting prince back into bed. “You’re not to be up and about without help. You nearly died, lad,” he reminded him. “Fear not, your brother’s right there beside you.” The two princes had fit perfectly side by side in Beorn’s large bed, where he had laid them both after treating their injuries.

At the sound of the strange voice, Kili forced his eyes open, enduring the searing daylight until the unfamiliar, stern face of a giant appeared above him. Frantically, he grasped for his brother, calming only a little when he felt his fingers close upon the chilly skin of Fili's forearm.

"Fili..." he moaned, more in pain than anything else.

“Don’t jostle him,” Beorn warned softly. “He has a hole in his lung that needs healing. He will not wake for some time, I’d wager. And you,” he said, lifting the smallest mug he had in his home to Kili’s cracked lips, supporting Kili’s head and encouraging him to drink, “you should be sleeping as well. Drink up, lad. This will help with your pain.”

Kili gulped as his mouth was filled with honey-sweetened milk that tasted strongly of cloves and cinnamon. He spluttered through a few brief swallows before jerking his head away as the terror surged up through him. "NO!" 

He recoiled, sending burning pain shooting up through his insides and he fell back against the bed, coughing on the milk. 

Beorn reached with practiced expertise for a cloth nearby. “You’re scared, and why shouldn’t you be? I am Beorn. Gandalf brought you here to me for care for. He’s gone to fetch your uncle. I will let no harm come to you.” He dabbed at the spilled liquid. “It’s good medicine, I promise you, Kili. You need to heal. Your brother will need you. Now, be a good lad and drink some more.” Beorn again held out the wooden mug. “It is safe. _You_ are safe.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kili turned away, refusing the milk. His throat was parched and his body craved the hydration, but the thought of consuming anything right now made him nauseous.

"Don't want it." His words were a pathetic whimper, and shame began to pool inside him. The feeling grew in strength as lucidity returned, bringing with it fragmented, discontinuous memories of what had happened in the last several days. "He made me..." _eat someone._ Kili buried his face in the pillow.

Beorn had seen this sort of behavior before -- in women, raped by the enemy, and in soldiers, forced to commit atrocities for which they could not forgive themselves.

"Brave lad," Beorn moved closer to the trembling youth, making a great show of cleaning Fili's face with a damp cloth, "you and your brother have been through the worst thing you shall ever face together, I imagine. And you survived by your own cunning. Anything that happened to you while a prisoner -- you cannot control it, what they did to you. You can only control whether or not you let it change you. Whether you allow it to destroy you, or strengthen you. If you have managed to escape, I'm guessing you're already stronger. Don't you dare stop healing now." Beorn rested a large hand over the back of Kili's head. "For the pain, Prince Kili. To help you heal."

"You know me?" Kili asked, bewildered. His thoughts were still clouded, and only a few words of the giant's speech made any sense to him. _Brother,_ and _prisoner. Control._ "We escaped them? To become your prisoners?" Kili spat the words in anger and despair.

“I am not your jailer, youngster,” Beorn chuckled. “I am your physician, set to care for you until Gandalf returns with your uncle, the King. You need not fear me, but I would appreciate if you heed my advice and try to rest.”

"Thorin's coming here?" Kili craned his neck, taking in his surroundings. He lay in a massive bed near a blazing hearth. In the distance, beyond the blurriness of his vision, he could hear the lowing of cattle and the bleating of goats. The earthy smells of livestock and honey caught in his nostrils. As his senses seemed to return to him, he realized that his hand still rested upon his brother's arm, which was cold to the touch. Stubbornly, he forced himself to sit up, grimacing through the pain that pounded its way through his body, until he could look down upon Fili.

His nearest kin and closest friend lay unconscious in the bed beside him. His fair face was bruised and bandaged, and his chest barely moved with each slow, pained breath.

"Oh, no..." Tears welled in Kili's eyes. _If Thorin sees us like this, he will know what they did to us._ He turned frantically to Beorn. "You have to heal him, please!"

“He _is_ healing lad. I promise you that. But it will not happen overnight. Nor will you heal if you do not lie back down,” he pulled the woolen blanket up to cover Kili to the waist. “Escaping captivity like you two did… it was nothing short of miraculous,” Beorn told him. “The King will be quite proud of you.”

Beorn's words did nothing to reassure Kili. Overwhelmed as he was by fear, of the giant man, of Thorin discovering them like this, and above all, for his brother and himself, he could not even remember entirely what had happened to them -- the memories of the past several days were like a nightmare from which he had only just awoken, and he felt as though the reality of what had happened was rapidly fading into an imagined terror. 

Only the pain inside him and Fili's near-death condition reminded him that this was real. Succumbing to the ache within his body, the seep of blood from between his thighs, he lay down again beside Fili. Curling up against his brother's cold skin, he began to weep, defeated.

Beorn took this opportunity to again cleanse and cover the cuts and punctures on Kili’s back. Into the herbal mixture, he added some crushed valerian root, in hopes that it would bring relaxation to the distraught youth. He could take away the lad’s pain, but not his shame, he lamented, as he covered him up fully and moved to return to his chores.

The cool salve was soothing on the angry wounds on Kili's shoulder, and he found himself grateful for the kindness of this stranger. And as Beorn retreated, Kili slowly began to relax, as if drugged, but he still held Fili closely, intertwining his fingers with his brother's digits.

Beside him, Fili stirred just a little, but he did not wake. Sniffling softly, Kili closed his eyes, succumbing to his exhaustion and the need for rest, hoping that when he opened his eyes again, this would all be just a bad dream.

\- - - - -

As the day wore on, Beorn periodically checked in on his young charges. They slept, mostly, one curled against the other, clinging to what vitality they still possessed. For the most part, Beorn did not disturb them. He did not want to think too much on their presence within his home.

To avoid the dwarves, he spent his day as a bear, chasing the fish in the river and eating wild berries from the low shrubs beneath the trees, trying not to think on the predicament that Gandalf had foisted upon him. But upon returning home late in the evening to find his bed still occupied by the sleeping dwarves, he admitted to himself that he had no choice but to care for these poor creatures until they were well enough to leave. The sooner they were healed, the sooner he’d be left alone. 

After his evening meal, he approached the bed, and lifted the blanket covering Fili to examine him. The blond was bleeding again, blood trickling from his badly torn hole. Beorn’s large fingers would only cause more discomfort if he tried to insert them, but he knew that some ground agrimony applied to the inside of the wound would help to slow the bleeding. Smaller hands would work better, but Beorn simply couldn’t ask the younger one to do it. The lad was sleeping now, and barely coherent when conscious.

Using his smallest finger, Beorn painstakingly eased some of the concoction inside of Fili’s injured cavity, wincing when the lad whimpered and startled. Who knew what horrors he was reliving? Damage as extensive as what Beorn felt could not have been caused by ordinary orcs, unless there were a multitude. But that did not explain how the young princes had managed to escape. No, there had been only a few, and monstrous creatures, judging by the extent of the tearing, the size of the handprint-shaped bruise upon Fili's flank, and the severity of the injuries Beorn could feel within Fili's body. Only the massive gundabad orcs were large enough to hurt the lad this way, and of those, only one he knew was sadistic enough to torture his prey for sport before finally giving the merciful release of death.

"Azog," he whispered, withdrawing his hand and cleaning the blood from his fingers.

When Beorn looked up again, he found himself being scrutinized by a pair of wary blue eyes, glassy with pain and herbs.

“Yes,” the blond said weakly. “Azog did this. Who are you? Was it you who found us?” His questions trailed off into a weak, pained cough.

"You're awake," Beorn said, quickly checking the bandages in Fili's chest to ensure that the beeswax seal remained intact over the wounds. "Try not to breathe deeply. He nearly killed you."

 _So it is true,_ he thought, _that Azog yet lives._

He turned away, hiding his sudden flare of rage and his old, burning hatred for the pale orc from the dwarf lad. He stalked angrily from the bed toward his herb cabinet, and as he pulled the feverfew from its place on the shelf and began to grind it with a mortar and pestle, he explained to Fili in a low voice, "The wizard brought you to me. I will heal you as best I can and return you to your kin when they arrive here, before the week is out. Though I warn you" -- he turned back and fixed Fili with a concerned expression -- "You will not be able to travel quickly. Orcs roam these lands, and with your injuries, you may never reach your destination, wherever that may be." 

Beorn was silent for a long moment, knowing that if he turned these lads away, he might as well kill them now, and save them the fate of death at the hands of the orcs. 

"I am sorry."

“Do not be sorry,” Fili told him, raising his right hand with painstaking care to affirm his brother’s presence by touching his face. “I never thought I’d awaken again. I was breathing my own blood, nearly split in half by Azog’s claw, and you’ve -- you’ve helped me. Helped _us._ Strangers. By all accounts, we should be dead. I shall forever be in your debt.” Talking, moving, had exhausted Fili. “‘m tired,” he admitted. “Do you have water?”

"Aye." Beorn took a small flagon from his kitchen and filled it with clean water. He returned to Fili's side and gently helped him drink. The flagon was as large as the little dwarf's head, but Fili still drank greedily, parched as he must have been.

Fili gave the skinchanger a hesitant, brief smile when he had drank enough. "Thank you," he said softly, his fingers still entwined with his brother's hair. "Is he -- ?"

"He panicked when he awoke here," Beorn said, referring to Kili, "but he will recover. Rest will do you both well. Sleep, Fili. You are safe within these walls."

Fili nodded, fingers curling in Kili’s hair as his eyes slid shut. _Keep him safe,_ he begged Beorn silently, for they were truly at the giant’s mercy. But somehow, even despite the grimness of this massive man’s countenance, he finally felt safe, for the first time, it seemed, in years.


	8. Secrets

For days, Thorin watched the sky for a sign of Gandalf's return. He had seen countless birds of kinds too innumerable to name, flying insects and passing clouds and the repetitive arc of the sun across the blue summer sky, but no sign of the massive eagle which would return his nephews to his side.

"I have given the wizard three days," he said to Dwalin in a low whisper, disquieted by the reddish evening sky and the settling of the sun into the western horizon. "Three long days with eagle's eyes and magic, and still, he has not found them."

"We could look for them ourselves," Dwalin suggested. He flexed his knuckles and spread his fingers across the head of his battle hammer. The gesture looked aggressive, but Thorin knew that it was the expression of the anxiety they all felt for Fili and Kili.

"Gandalf promised to return," Balin reminded Thorin. "You must be prepared for what happens if he returns... alone."

"I will not accept that," Thorin said, obstinately. He looked back up at the sky again, but when his eyes were greeted only by the mid-morning sunlight amidst the sparse covering of airy white clouds, he let out a frustrated huff and began to pace off his ever-increasing agitation. "I will not abandon them, not even for this quest."

A pained expression passed through Balin's eyes, and quietly, he said, "They did sign a contract. We all did."

Thorin stopped and stared at his old friend. His fingers curled into fists and he stalked towards Balin, brimming with sudden rage. It took all his self control not to punch Balin across the mouth and instead to grab him by the collar, jerking his elder in close until his eyes were inches from those of his old friend. "Contracts be damned," he growled. "They are my nephews!"

"Thorin!" Dwalin's hand thudded against his shoulder and Thorin spun towards the touch, but at the sight of Dwalin's outstretched finger pointed toward the sky, he looked up, and his heart leapt inside him. 

At the sight of the golden eagle above the trees to the east, Thorin's anger suddenly evaporated as a sense of hope overwhelmed him. But as the bird drew near, and Thorin could begin to make out the grey figure atop the eagle's back, his brief moment of joy began to crumble, for Gandalf was alone.

As the eagle touched down some paces away, Thorin drew his sword and rushed toward the wizard. "I told you not to return without them!"

"Fear not!" Gandalf thrust his staff towards Thorin to ward him back, but it was the sight of what he held in his other hand that stopped Thorin in his tracks. "I found them. They are alive, but injured. I had to bring them to safety before I could return to you." 

Gandalf pressed the two silver clasps, pulled from the princes' hair, into Thorin's hand. The king's fingers closed around the metal and he pressed the twin clasps to his lips in relief.

"Where have you brought them?" Thorin demanded once he had regained his composure.

"A place not far from here," Gandalf said. "We must move quickly. There is an orc pack not far behind you. Fili and Kili may have escaped them for now, but I fear that by now, Azog is on the move again, hunting them -- and you -- with a renewed sense of vengeance. He will not stop until he has put an end to your line." He glanced around briefly at the company, counting them off on his fingers. “We must make haste. It is four days on foot from here to where I have taken your nephews.”

“Thorin, you should go now.” Dwalin looked pointedly at the eagle, still perched upon a rock, preening its chest feathers. “Take the bird and join the lads. Gandalf will lead us there in time.”

“If there is an orc pack behind us,” Balin said, dropping his voice, “we sentence this company to death if we lose another warrior.” He discreetly pointed with his eyes at the more vulnerable members of their company -- at Bilbo, and Bofur, and Ori.

Understanding Balin’s meaning, Thorin gave his old friend a weary nod. “You go on then, Balin. Take Oin with you. Gandalf? Can the bird find its way back to them?”

“Landroval is no mere bird,” Gandalf said, visibly bristling. "Rest assured, he understands precisely what you are planning to do.”

The eagle stretched his wings and fluttered down from its rocky outcropping, where he extended a massive wing to the ground, as if kneeling to take on a rider.

“Very well,” Thorin said. “Balin, Oin. Go now.”

He watched as his elders obeyed his command and situated themselves onto the back of the eagle, who immediately took wing and climbed into the sky, flying on ahead into the distance. Thorin watched the bird as it disappeared into the night, then looked down at the two hair clasps still clutched in his iron-fisted grip.

“Lead on, Gandalf,” he said, pocketing the clasps in order to keep them safe. “Take me to them, as quickly as you can.”

\- - - - - 

The next time Fili opened his eyes, he could smell bread baking. His stomach gave an embarrassingly loud gurgle and he groaned in pain when he lifted his arm to scratch at the itchy bandage around his head. Sunlight streamed through a nearby window and a breeze fluffed out the curtains. A fat bumblebee flew past and he followed it with his eyes until it disappeared deeper into Beorn's home.

"Kee?" he whispered, "are you awake?"

Kili stirred at his brother's voice, faint in his ear. He leaned in towards the comforting sound and snuggled against Fili's shoulder, burying his face in Fili's tresses.

"Yes," he said. "Tired, though."

"Me too," Fili answered him, eyes on the thatched ceiling high above them. "I have never been more tired in my life. We _lived,_ Kili," Fili's voice, though weak, was full of wonder. "By some miracle of the Maker, we were chosen to survive. Surely it is so we can help Uncle complete his quest. So we too can share in the wealth of our ancestral home."

Kili groaned. "Erebor is the last thing on my mind. It's because of this quest that... that..." his voice trailed off. He could not seem to summon the strength to say what had happened to them.

"We could blame the quest, or we could blame the culprits," Fili slid his hand into his brother's. "What we're doing -- trying to regain a home we've never seen -- how can it be wrong?"

"It's not," Kili admitted. More than anything, he had long wished to see Erebor, but now, he was too focused on the pain in his body to think about anything but going back to sleep. He was so tired, so disoriented, and even thinking of how far they still were from Erebor made his head spin. But come to think of it, he had no idea where they were. He opened his eyes and let his vision adjust to the low, warm light of a fire from a hearth some paces away, and to the glow of daylight shining through windows into a massive hall of carved wood. "Fili? Where are we?"

“The home of a man -- a giant of a man,” Fili clarified. “I cannot recall his name, but he claims Gandalf brought us here. I wish I could remember.” Fili covered the puncture wound in his chest with his hand and scooted haltingly closer to his brother. “He’s been caring for us. Our injuries. _All of them._ ”

Kili furrowed his brow, not quite knowing exactly what Fili meant. But as he thought on his brother's words, the memories began to return, in brief glimpses and a low, pulsing pain deep inside his body.

"Ohh..." Kili had no words to describe the mix of shame and grief that seemed to course over him now.

 _It isn't true,_ he lied to himself. _This cannot have happened to us. Mahal, what if Thorin finds out?_

In a sudden, desperate effort to convince himself that he was just imagining the pain, that nothing had truly happened to him or to Fili, he slid his hand down his body and crooked his finger into that awkward, sensitive place between his buttocks. A stinging pain came with the touch of his fingers against his torn, scabbed skin, and he jerked the hand away. He glanced at Fili, and tears began to burn in his eyes.

Fili winced at Kili’s actions. “You musn’t,” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. “You need to heal… _down there._ You must let him give you the medicine when he tries to. He’s a bit gruff, but only because we were a surprise. He’s obviously used to his solitude. But, Kili, we’d be dead if not for this man.”

Fili’s speech had exhausted him and he lay back on his pillow. “I have never been more hungry in my life,” he confessed quietly.

"They starved you," Kili whispered. He trailed his fingertips over his brother's cheek, which had thinned with the days of hunger and the torture heaped upon Fili's body. 

At the touch, Fili flinched almost imperceptibly, afraid of being hurt again. But as soon as the flicker of fear was in Fili's eyes, it was gone, disappearing behind the remembrance that Kili was his brother, and would never harm him. Fili could suppress his fear behind his strength in a way that Kili had never been able to do, especially now, after all that had happened. The knowledge of his own weakness made Kili feel ill. He was hurting, certainly, but Fili had nearly died. The very thought of what had been done to him made Kili's stomach churn almost violently, and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to blot out the images that had been burned so recently into his mind. 

"Fili..." _I'm so sorry I was weak,_ he wanted to say. _I am sorry I couldn’t stop them from hurting you._ But he did not put those thoughts into words. Instead, he murmured, "We should be dead, after what they did. It hurts so badly." He swallowed, looking down through tears at the bandages upon Fili's chest, below his bruised fingers. "I cannot imagine your pain, nadad.”

“It’s not so bad,” Fili whispered. “Our host has given me a great deal of medicine to help keep the pain at bay. I do fear we might wear out our welcome sooner rather than later. Do you feel as if you can travel? Right now, the idea of walking more than a few feet…” Fili’s voice petered off. He couldn’t to tell his brother that he was still so out of breath, as if something large and heavy were sitting on his chest. But the notion of standing, walking, _riding_... Fili shivered and squeezed Kili’s hand. “I-I don’t think I’m ready.”

"I am staying with you," Kili said, resolutely. "I will not leave your side."

“Nor I yours,” Fili smiled. “Each time I close my eyes, I can feel Azog’s icy, cold claw piercing my chest. I cannot breathe. And then, you were there. You leapt on his back, throttled him. You saved my life, Kili.” He blinked, and a tear rolled from each eye. “You saved me.”

"I wish I had acted sooner. Then he might not have..." Kili trailed off, the foul words sticking in his throat. "I'm so sorry."

“We were prisoners. You were _bound_.” Fili rolled his head to meet Kili’s eyes. “You were still bound when you saved me. That, in and of itself, was miraculous, Kili. Don’t you ever say you’re sorry.”

Kili knew that Fili's words were meant to be reassuring, but he could not help but feel ashamed, seeing how strong his brother was after enduring all he had lived through. Miserably, he hid his face in his hands and he began to weep. A low, sad moan escaped his lips, and he felt Fili's hand come to rest comfortingly upon his shoulder.

“Nadadel, no,” Fili’s voice was hoarse with emotion, “ _no._ ” He pulled Kili into his arms, guiding his head to rest in the crook of his shoulder, where it would not disturb the bandages over his chest. “You cannot let them beat you. _We_ were the victors. We cannot let this destroy us.” 

"How can you be so calm?" Kili wailed. "I'm bleeding! From... from..." Disgusted, he pushed himself away from Fili so violently that he nearly toppled out of the massive bed. The motion sent a wave of cramps ripping through his body. He fell back against the straw mattress, clutching his abdomen in agony.

“K’hai!” Fili cried, lurching after him and causing his own avalanche of pain. “Don’t,” he gasped once he could form words. “Please. If you must move, you must take it slowly. We’re healing, but we won’t if you cannot stay still.” 

Before Kili could respond, Fili heard the heavy thud of footsteps against the floor, and his eyes shot up to see their massive host approaching, carrying a tray. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I heard him crying.” Beorn sat the tray down on the floor next to the bed, but not before Fili got a whiff of its contents -- bread, and some sort of fruit jam. “Do either of you wish to have anything for your pain before breakfast?”

At the sound of the word, Fili’s stomach growled appreciatively and he blushed furiously. “I have to beg your forgiveness. Firstly, because I have forgotten your name, and secondly, because I’m so hungry… I cannot stop shaking.”

"My name is Beorn," the giant said, sounding mildly annoyed. Nonetheless, he extended his hands to Fili, who hesitated briefly before taking them, allowing Beorn to help him to sit up against the headboard. Once Fili was settled, Beorn gently placed a massive plate of bread and honey and fruit preserves on Fili's lap. "Eat. You need the energy." He turned to Kili, frowning. "Do not move so much, boy. You will only injure yourself and your brother. Are you in pain?"

Kili shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine.”

“He’s lying to you,” Fili smiled gently, so overwhelmed by the food, he didn’t know where to start. “He just got done telling me he’s in pain. We both are.” Indeed, a sheen of cold sweat had broken out on Fili’s face for his efforts to move. He had no wish to inconvenience his host, but he wasn’t sure how long he could bear to sit up. “Anything you could do to help with that, we’d greatly appreciate it. And I’m sure you’ll be compensated well for your efforts when our company arrives.” 

Fili picked up a piece of bread with one trembling hand and brought it to his lips. It smelled wonderful and tasted even better. He gave Kili a look that said _he’s only trying to help._

Beorn gave Fili a wry half grin. "Humility and politeness from a dwarf," he remarked, sounding vaguely amused. 

At the insult, Kili glared up at the giant, who paid him no heed as he reached for a large tankard sitting on the tray and handed it carefully to Fili. Inside the cup was honey-sweetened milk that smelled floral, and of clove. At the sight of the milk, Kili turned away, hiding his face in his pillow.

"Drink some of this," Beorn said to Fili. "The herbs will ease your pain."

“We certainly learned of... humility... at the hands of our captors,” Fili told their host, quietly. “There is no question of that. Thank you, again, Beorn, for giving us shelter and care. Gandalf surely knew what he was doing, bringing us to your home,” he took a generous sip of the milk, then another. “I take it you’ve had bad dealings with our kind before. I’m sorry for that. Were you to come to our home, we’d afford you much kinder treatment.” 

A yawn suddenly split Fili’s face. “This drink,” he remarked, “it works very well. Come, Kili, have some. It tastes very good. Like… like Mother’s custard.” The mug grew heavy in his hands and Fili wound up resting it on one thigh. “Nadad?”

"Not thirsty," Kili said. His voice was muffled by the pillow.

“It’s medicine, Kili,” Fili told him gently. “For your pain. You only need drink a little. I had but a few sips and I’m...” He yawned again and concluded, “It’s very powerful.” He raised his eyes to Beorn’s, concerned.

"You need the nourishment," Beorn said. He shrugged. "Suit yourself if you'd rather go hungry."

Fili knew those were not the proper words with which to convince Kili. Beorn had no idea what Kili had been through. “It will make you forget, Kee, if only for a little while,” he offered. “Drink some, and lay with me. It will help in your recovery.”

Reluctantly, Kili pulled himself up in the bed and took the tankard from Fili. He took a small sip, just the merest of tastes, and felt simultaneously sickened and quenched by the sweetened milk. Quickly, he handed the mug back to his brother. "Is there water?"

Beorn nodded, leaving to bring back a flagon. In his absence, a powerful knock echoed through the large room. Kili’s head lifted anxiously from his pillow and looked at Fili questioningly. 

“Could it be…?” Fili’s question petered off, placing his hand over Kili’s. He listened again, but when he heard nothing, he settled back against the headboard. “Take some more of the milk,” he encouraged his brother. “I know putting anything in your stomach is the last thing you want to do right now, but it will surely make you feel better. I -- I can barely keep my eyes open. And I had so hoped to eat just a bit more.” 

He reached for another chunk of bread, chewing on it slowly, but he stopped mid-chew as he heard the thudding sound again, and this time he did not doubt his senses. Fili quickly swallowed the bite of bread and forced himself to sit up straight as the door to the house burst open, and in came two grey-haired dwarves, rushing in uninvited. 

“What is the meaning of this!?” Beorn bellowed from his kitchen. He stormed back to the bedside, tankard of water forgotten on the table.

“Balin!” Kili cried, bolting up in the bed but collapsing right back down again as a wave of pain shuddered through him.

“Stay still, lad,” Oin cried as he hurried to the side of the bed. 

“Lads!” Balin pushed forward, immediately cupping Fili’s bruised face in both hands and studying him. “Fili, you’ve seen a fight, haven’t you?”

“Let me examine them, Balin,” Oin insisted, laying down his ear trumpet and opening his medical supply kit. Behind him, Beorn glowered.

“And who are you?” Beorn growled, tensing at the intrusion. He took the tray from Fili’s lap.

“They are our kin,” Fili told him, yet he found himself tensing a bit at the presence of his elders, more than a little nervous at showing his injuries to Oin, or having Balin know he’d been violated. “We’re so... happy to see you,” he said, forcing himself to smile.

“Stay still,” Oin said, closing his fingers on the blanket covering Fili’s torso. He made to pull the covering back, but Fili stopped him with a trembling hand.

“No,” he said, voice soft and timid. He swallowed and said, resolutely, “We do not need for anything.”

“I must see the damage, lad,” Oin said, concern growing in his steely eyes. 

Fili shook his head. “Can we wait a bit? Perhaps until the medicine is working better? I’m in a lot of pain, Oin.”

Beorn pulled himself to his full height. “I am a capable medicine man in my own right.”

Oin blinked at him and leaned forward with his ear trumpet. Beorn’s mouth tightened into an uncompromising seam.

“He’s healed them, he claims,” Balin said to Oin.

“Well,” Oin said, shrugging and pocketing his trumpet as he looked back at Fili and Kili, “He’s done a remarkable job, it seems. How are you lads feeling?”

Beneath the blankets, Fili felt Kili’s hand tighten on his own. He didn’t have to look at his brother’s face to discern what he was thinking.

“We’re fine,” Kili said, quickly. “Just…”

“Just tired,” Fili finished. He stifled a truly genuine yawn. “Beorn has treated us well.”

“Thank you,” Balin said to Beorn, extending his hands in a gesture of peacemaking. “We are in your debt.”

“No,” Beorn growled, “you are in my _house._ And I do not appreciate it.”

“Whatever price you would demand for your hospitality,” Balin said, “we would happily pay it.”

Beorn’s eyes narrowed. “There is nothing you can give me. I would have healed them whether you could pay or not.” Moodily, he stalked off toward the hearth and began to tend the fire, hurling logs into the fireplace with near-reckless abandon in his frustration.

Balin turned back to Fili. “Your injuries -- who did this to you? Was it Azog?”

“Yes,” Fili said. “And another orc… Bolg. We escaped them.”

Balin’s face split into a grin that was both proud and rueful. “That you did, laddie.”

"Where is this place?" Kili asked Balin, slowly pulling himself up in the bed. "The last I remember... we were on the slopes of the Misty Mountains. They were going to take us somewhere to the east, but I do not remember the name of their destination."

"If they were travelling over land," Beorn said from near the fireplace, "it would have been Dol Guldur. Many leagues to the southeast of here. Had you indeed been taken there, you would not have survived the journey.” 

“We are east of the Misty Mountains,” Balin said, answering Kili’s question. “We came by eagle from the Anduin, where Thorin and Gandalf and the rest of the company remain. They will be here within a few days.”

“Then we must be…” Fili tried to do the math in his head, but his thoughts were cloudy, and the numbing sensation that had settled into him, likely from Beorn’s medicines, had left him exhausted.

“A day's hard ride from the Greenwood," Beorn finished.

"The Greenwood?" Kili repeated, eyes widening. "The realm of the wood elves."

"Yes," Beorn said. "In some ways, it is unfortunate that Gandalf brought you to me instead of to them, for they could have healed you far faster than I can manage. But the woodland elves are not fond of your kind, and they may very well have let you die instead of spent the effort to heal you."

"Yet you took them in," Balin said. "Why?"

"Because I hate orcs," Beorn said. "And the moment I saw them... I knew. The signs of their sport are easy to see for those who know what orcs do to their prisoners."

Kili felt a small flare of shame rising to color his cheeks. "You knew what they had done to us."

"Such cruelty I have not seen in many years," Beorn said. His voice had taken on a dark, brooding quality, and when he spoke again, his words were filled with hatred. "Only orcs would delight in doing such things as they did to you. Wretched, despicable things. You are lucky to have escaped... as was I."

Fili blinked at their host owlishly, eyes falling to the shackles on Beorn’s wrists. Surely, he could have had them removed, yet he wore them as a reminder. 

“Is there any reason for us to think the rest of our company might be in danger as well?” Balin asked.

"Orcs are everywhere throughout these lands, killing and maiming at will. If your kin find themselves out under the cover of darkness with orcs on the hunt, they will be found, and taken, and killed." He narrowed his eyes. "But here, you are safe. I have ways of my own for dealing with orcs."

Fili, by then, despite his best efforts, was no longer listening. His head has slid to his shoulder and his eyes closed on their own accord. A small piece of bread rolled from his slackened hand. 

“Your brother has the right idea, Kili,” Oin said, gently easing Fili down into the bed. He glanced around, then saw the tray of bread and preserves upon the bedside table, and lifted the tray only slightly in Kili’s direction. “Have you eaten some of this?”

Kili pushed the tray of food away, inching back from the meal distrustfully. 

"Fili?" he said, voice full of uncertainty. When Fili didn't answer, he glanced over to see his brother unconscious, eyes closed, and head lolling to the side. His eyes darted back to Beorn. "You drugged him!"

"I did," Beorn said. "He needs the rest. As do you, youngling."

"NO!" Kili cried. A sudden feeling of dread rushed through him, and before he knew what he was doing, he closed his hands on Fili’s shoulders and began to shake him. “Fili, wake up!”

“Kili, don’t!”

Balin’s cry was coupled with a sharp stabbing pain in Kili’s belly as the older dwarf grabbed him by the arms and forced him away from his brother. Kili fell back, gasping, and in his terror, he began to kick against his captors. As Balin and Oin closed two massive hands around his wrists, the fear came flooding back into him, and he suddenly thrashed in their grip, trying to get free. 

"Let me go!" he howled, but the others held him fast.

“This is ludicrous!” Beorn bellowed, throwing his hands up and storming out of his own house. “Dwarves!” he groused as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Kili, it is us, your kin!” Balin yelled over Kili’s screaming. “We will not hurt you!" 

The lad did not seem to hear him. Balin briefly exchanged a glance with Oin, and together they pulled Kili kicking from the bed and dragged him to another part of the room. There, they forced Kili down against a wall and held him in place until the pain seemed to get the better of Kili's struggling, and eventually, he went limp in their hands. 

Gently, Balin lifted his fingers to Kili's face to try to bring him back to awareness, but pulled his hand away when Kili flinched at the touch. "Kili, lad… you must be calm.” 

His eyes darted to Kili’s naked body, and he gasped as he saw the extent of the damage done to the young prince. 

“Oh, Mahal…” Oin muttered. He too had seen the damage, and had gone as grey as his beard. “Balin, he’s been…”

Balin said nothing, but the hideous word was written in the shine of tears that now filled his eyes.

Kili whimpered and drew his knees up to his chest, both in shame and in agony. The pain inside him was overwhelming, and he could feel the blood beginning to work its way out of his angry wounds, trickling down his back and wetting the inside of his thighs. He began to sob, for there was nothing he could do but let Oin touch him in ways he did _not_ want to be touched. Even though the hands of his cousin were gentle as they began to tend to his reopened injuries, the touch of his massive fingers upon his naked skin felt too much like Bolg's hands, touching him when he could no longer fight back, denying him any power over his own body. He began to sob uncontrollably as Oin cleaned and bandaged the wounds in his shoulder, and when Balin gently grabbed his knees and parted his legs to inspect the damage that Kili had done to himself with his struggling, he burned in humiliation, wanting nothing more than to disappear into a hole of stone, where he would never be seen or touched again.

Seeing Kili like that, Balin drew back, and he pressed a hand to his mouth, not knowing what to say or even think. It had been decades since he had seen injuries like this. Whatever the orcs had done, it had been damaging to both Kili's mind and his body, and he tried to imagine what could have possibly happened beyond the obvious physical torture to make Kili react so violently to even a well-intentioned, healing touch. He stayed still as Kili closed in on himself, getting smaller by pulling his legs in close and wrapping his arms around his body as the sobs wracked him. 

“There is nothing we can do if he refuses to let us help him,” Oin said, whispering in Balin’s ear.

Fraught with conflict and unsure of what to do, Balin stood and turned away, listening to his cousin’s tears with equal measures of rage and sadness and a strange, miserable emotion that he could only imagine to be pity. He had never, _ever_ pitied another dwarf, but now, seeing Kili in his brokenness, and Fili, who refused to even let them see him beneath the blanket, he found that he could not suppress the feeling. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Balin turned to Oin. “See if there’s something we use to treat… that injury.” He pointed, but refused to look, at the blood smeared upon the insides of Kili’s legs. 

Oin nodded grimly and went to Beorn’s kitchen, and he began rooting around for supplies until he found a fresh ointment that smelled strongly of clove oil and yarrow, and he brought the salve along with a soft cloth and a bucket of clean, warm water back to Kili. He set the supplies in front of the curled up dwarf, and said, as kindly as he could, "Tend your wounds, Kili. I will not touch you there. But you need to treat that injury, or the bleeding will continue for days. It could get infected by the foulness of your own body, and then you could die."

When Kili met his eyes, it was clear that death was no longer something that he wished to avoid. Yet at Oin's continued urgings, Kili eventually regained control over his weeping, and he wiped the tears from his cheeks with a trembling hand before reaching for the cloth.

As if he were a puppet, Kili haltingly obeyed the healer’s commands. His cousins gave him distance as he picked up the rag. In relative solitude, Kili immersed the cloth in the water, then used it to clean away the blood from his groin and the tender, torn skin behind his stones. Shivering, he touched the cool salve to his opening, and a soft, ashamed whimper escaped him as he slid his finger into himself, coating the angry tissue inside his body with the medicine. At the touch of his own hands, the memory of his defilement slammed against him, and he was suddenly back in the orc's clutches, powerless to stop the violation as Azog pounded into him, ripping him open from within. He immediately jerked his finger out of himself and furiously scrubbed the blood away before curling up again upon the floor.

Eventually, Kili heard Balin and Oin return to clean up the mess. He closed his eyes and listened to the other dwarves work, somewhere off in the distance of the massive hall. When Balin returned once more, he knelt beside Kili and gingerly brushed a lock of damp, sweat-soaked hair out of Kili’s face. "We’ve made a bed for you, laddie. We thought it best to have you in a different bed than Fili, at least until you’re both healed up a bit. Do you understand?"

Kili gave a weak nod.

"Will you let me help you up?"

Reluctantly, Kili opened his eyes and took Balin's extended hand, resisting the urge to push his cousin away. 

Balin helped Kili to his feet, and slung a strong, stabilizing arm around his waist. He endured the humiliation as Balin helped him hobble to a pile of straw covered in a blanket on the floor near the large bed, where Oin was leaning over Fili, pulling back the blanket to inspect the wounds in the sleeping prince. Kili averted his eyes as Balin laid him down and draped a second blanket over him, hiding his nakedness.

“I think the drug’s in the milk,” Oin said, giving the tankard a sniff. He took a small sip of the milk and smacked his lips together, and gave an approving nod. He held the tankard out to Kili. “Have some, laddie. It will help you sleep. You will not dream."

Without the will to resist, Kili took the tankard from Oin’s outstretched hand. Slowly, Kili brought the tankard to his lips, and he began to drink. The taste was cloying and sticky sweet, but he forced himself to consume the liquid. As he drank, a calming sensation began to spread through him, and he realized just how exhausted his struggling had left him. He could only drink half a pint or so before he had to set the tankard down as the drowsiness settled into his sore, aching muscles. When Oin took the tankard back, Kili blinked at him slowly, beginning to feel the effects of the drug as it calmed him into a state of sedated rest. His fear was still there, but had retreated to a corner in his mind. Though he had the worry that when he woke again, he would find himself in no better condition than he was now, the compulsion to sleep had settled over him, and he closed his eyes and gave a brief, unspoken, and incomplete prayer to the Maker that he would be all right, and that in sleep, he would find some relief from his suffering.

True to Oin's word, Kili's slumber was both deep and dreamless.


	9. Dreams

The hours passed easily and swiftly for Fili in a haze of Beorn’s wonderful, medicinal milk and the comfortable bed. On the first day, Balin and Oin had given the brothers the coats off their own backs, and if felt good to hide his battered, broken body beneath the sumptuous red velvet of Balin’s overcoat. Though the fabric comfortably concealed his nudity and the bruises and the wounds, sometimes he could not help but look, watching as his body slowly began to stitch itself back together. 

By the second day, the swelling around Fili’s right eye had diminished, and as the days went by, he began to see much better. The tightness in his chest, too, was abating, and the angry, puffy edges of his puncture wounds had given way for healthy pink skin. In other places, too, the pain was beginning to lessen. After three days, he’d been able to get up and walk around a bit, and was finally able to climb into a tub of hot water and let the heat and steam begin to wash away the nightmarish terror of those uncertain days in captivity. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, how long he soaked, he still felt dirty, and he knew there would forever be scars, despite the best efforts of his healers. 

He cried, in that wash tub, when Kili and the others weren’t watching -- cried in relief, in pain, trying to process what had happened to him. But mostly, he cried for his little brother, who seemed but a shell of himself since they had escaped the orcs. In the first two days, Kili had calmed a bit, but as his fear had diminished, so too had his appetite. He was not eating, and it terrified Fili that Kili seemed to want to allow himself to waste away, especially after surviving such a gruesome event. Fili needed him -- more than he could allow himself to say while still playing the role of the stronger big brother.

Kili needed his brother as much as Fili needed him; though he refused to admit it openly, the truth was there in his behavior. It was clear in the silence with which he now carried himself, unwilling to speak unless spoken to first, and then only if it was Fili who had questioned him. Kili would not meet the eyes of the other dwarves, and ignored Beorn entirely. His pain was apparent in the way he would stay in his bed, refusing most of his meals except for the milk that made him sleep, waiting until after darkness had fallen and Beorn had disappeared beyond the house, and in those quiet, early morning hours, Kili would crawl into the big bed beside Fili, careful not to wake Oin or Balin, and there, he would curl up against his brother, crying softly, unable to stop until he had wept himself dry.

It was in those moments when Fili forced himself to be strong, for Kili needed the strength that Fili had always, and easily, been able to give. But now, it was not easy for Fili to suppress his own sadness, putting on a smile as he cradled Kili to his chest, carefully so as not to disturb the still-aching wounds that peppered his rib cage. He would tell Kili that they would get through this unbroken, and in doing so, he almost managed to convince himself that his words were true when they felt like a bitter lie. But Fili had no choice but to repeat them and to believe them, holding tightly to the faint, naive hope that they would be stronger for what had happened. It seemed to be the only thing that helped ease Kili's torment, and that was Fili's chief concern. In taking care of Kili, he could bury his own suffering, taking strength by reminding himself that he was the elder brother, and one day, the well-being of an entire kingdom would rest upon his shoulders. 

_Who am I,_ he thought, when he held Kili tightly through the night, even though the inside of his body ached and his own unshed tears pricked at his eyes, _to place my own needs and sorrows above those I am bound to care for? How am I to look after a kingdom if I cannot look after my own kin?_

In those moments, a large part of Fili wished he were still a wee dwarfling who could run to the strong-armed safety of his uncle, for comfort and kisses after falling and cutting open his knee. But now, a hole had opened in his soul, and his uncle could not fix it. No one could. It was a gaping wound deeper than anything his body had endured, and healing its rawness would take far more than any herb or salve or poultice could hope to offer. All he could do was be strong, if only for Kili’s sake, and hope that in time, he would come to believe the words he whispered in Kili’s ear.

“It will get better, nadad,” Fili said every time. But each time he repeated the words, he felt more hollow, more consumed by the vacant darkness within his spirit, until there seemed to be nothing left of him but the artificial smile and his empty, worthless words.

\- - - - -

Balin sat next to Fili’s bedside, watching the young prince slumber uneasily. As the hours crept by and the medicine gradually wore off, Fili’s dreamless slumber would slowly give way to nightmares, and now his sleep was plagued by them. Balin reasoned that it was because Fili spent so much of his time awake, but for what reason, he could not say. Perhaps it was because the sleep brought with it the terrors, forcing Fili to relive those days of captivity and abuse. As expected, it wasn’t long before Fili jerked awake with a gasp, immediately bringing his hand to his chest.

“There now, laddie,” Balin placed his own hand over Fili’s. “You’re all right now. You’re safe.”

“B-Balin?" Fili was still dazed by sleep and the herbed milk. “Where’s Kili?’’

“He’s asleep near the fire. Oin is with him.” Balin pointed and Fili relaxed a bit. “How is your pain?”

“It’s better,” Fili said. “A bit better each day.”

“And the pressure in your chest?”

“I always feel as if I should cough,” Fili told him, “but Oin says I musn’t. Oh, but I wish I could sit in one of those hot springs back in the mountains, or at the hearth in Mother’s workshop, listening to her stories as she made her toys. She always had the right words to make everything better,” he said softly. 

“I wish she were here for you now, Fili, but she isn’t,” Balin said kindly, “but should you wish to talk to me, I will listen without judgement. A burden shared is a burden halved. They say that for a reason, you know.”

Fili’s eyes met Balin’s. “This is not a burden I wish to share with anyone. No one deserves it, Balin. Could you pass me the milk, please? I just need a sip or two...”

 _...for the pain,_ Balin was able to finish the request for him. He’d heard it far too many times in the few days. And yet he couldn’t find it in him to tell Fili that he was concerned the lad might be become too dependent on the substance. Not yet. It was too soon to take away that small comfort.

Giving Fili a gentle smile, he handed him the milk. “You drink that, laddie. The rest will do you good.”

Fili gratefully took a few mouthfuls of the milk and rested back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes went glassy and finally drifted closed. As he fell back into the calm prelude of another few hours of sleep, Balin stood, and he went to the kitchen near the hearth, exchanging a brief look with Oin as he pulled a box of tea leaves from the cabinet.

Oin checked Kili to ensure he was at rest before joining Balin in the kitchen. Silently, he waited as Balin prepared two servings of tea in two giant mugs, and when Balin gave a dip of his snowy head towards the front door, Oin followed him out, and they took up a seat upon the front steps of the house.

“We must tell Thorin,” Oin insisted as Balin handed him a mug. “It’s our duty.”

“And what would he do?” Balin said. “It is terrible what happened to them, but for Thorin to discover what was done…”

“He’d _know,_ ” Oin emphasized. “It is not our way to hide things from him. He is the leader of the company. They are his heirs.”

“You saw how Kili reacted,” Balin said. “His shame… can you not imagine what that must be like for the lad?”

“T’would be much worse if Thorin doesn’t know. If he insists they get up, move on… without healing completely,” Oin frowned. “As their physician, I can do nothing else.”

“How long before they can travel?”

“In truth, I cannot say. Fili’s got that punctured lung. It concerns me more than anything. Who knows what foul matter was stuck to that weapon… and might still be festering in his chest. A hole in the lung is not to be shrugged off, Balin. You have seen what happens when soldiers return to the fray too quickly after such a wound.”

Balin nodded silently. “Indeed,” he said morosely. He stared at his tea leaves. “There are many things to consider here. Thorin will never see his nephews in the same light if he learns of what Azog did to them.”

Oin jerked the trumpet from his ear, unsure if he’d heard correctly. When Balin remained silent, he said angrily, “None of it was their doing! The lads were victims here. It could have been any of us!”

“Of course it could have,” Balin said. “But Thorin… I fear for him. And I fear for Fili and Kili. What they have lived through has shattered their senses of who they are. They tried to hide what had happened to them, and for their own reasons. It is not our place to tell Thorin what happened if they do not wish for him to know.” He shook his head, wincing ruefully. “The look on Kili’s face… He will not meet my eyes after that first day.”

“Nor mine,” Oin said. He had regained his calm composure, and he heaved an unhappy sigh. “We must remind them of who they are, and help them to heal in any way possible. And you know the lads. You helped raise them, taught them to fight. If you think it best for them in the mind” -- he tapped his temple with the tip of his ear trumpet -- “that we tell Thorin nothing, then we will not share what we know with our king. But if he commands us to tell him...”

“Then we will have no choice,” Balin finished. He sighed and scooped the tea leaves from his mug and flicked them away onto the ground. “You are right, though. We should at least make it clear to him that they are not ready for what lies ahead in this journey. Perhaps they should remain here, at least until we retake Erebor.”

“That would kill them faster than any injury. You cannot be considering it!”

“Then we will delay this quest until they are healed enough to travel. We may miss Durin’s Day if we dally any longer than...” Balin glanced up at the stars and the position of the waning moon, and counted the days out on his fingers. “... perhaps two weeks. Can they at least ride, or even walk, by then?”

“Perhaps, but not with much speed. Especially Fili. And we have yet to set foot in the Greenwood. Remember what Radagast said about that place.”

"There is a sickness upon it," Balin ruefully looked around the grounds. "As if forests could get sick. Bah.”

"Healthy or no, taking two seriously injured lads into a rank forest -- full of trees, and unstable earth, and fungus spores, and who knows what other filthy things..." Oin gave a shudder. "I would not wish to be in their position."

"They are hearty young lads, not bent old souls like you and me. I've yet to see them back down from any challenge."

"But this is _different,_ " Oin said emphatically. "The internal wounds will take weeks, if not months, to heal. And though we do not know precisely what they have suffered through. They sleep fitfully unless drugged. Fili coughs blood, and yet he hides his pain behind that wooden smile. And Kili... he will not touch his food. For two days now, he has eaten nothing. This may be a challenge greater than they can handle."

“Are you suggesting,” Balin leaned closer, “that our lads could be mad? _Damaged_ in their minds from what happened to them? Battle sickness, they call it when it happens to a soldier.”

"I am indeed suggesting it," Oin said in a low voice.

“Then you know full well the only cure for it... is time.”

Oin nodded in agreement, having nothing left to say. He stood and sloshed the last, bitter dregs of his tea out on the earth and started for the door. "I'm going to see if Kili’s awake, and if so, if I can get him to eat something. You coming?"

"No, I’ll stay out here a while longer," Balin said, turning his eyes upwards to the stars that lay embedded in the blue-black of the heavens, shrouded in wisps of sad grey clouds. When he heard the door close, leaving him alone in the garden, he said to the forlorn night, "Time is what they need, and time is far too short in supply."

\- - - - - 

Kili opened his eyes to find himself laying naked, immobile upon the hard stone floor. He was warm, too warm for comfort. Craning his neck, he caught sight of the nearby fire, coming from a nearby pit lined with bleached, cracked white stones. The flames glowed an eerie, sickly yellow, and were increasingly hot against him. He tried to move away from the painful flames, but his body seemed heavy, so heavy, weighed down by something that rendered him immobile. The fire licked against him, starting to burn away his dark hair until his skin was as hairless as an elf’s. Fear rose in him as he tried to wriggle away, but he could not move. When he looked down at himself, searching for the source of the weight that pinned him in place, he realized that it was his own body that kept him so close to the flames.

Horror and revulsion coursed up through him. His naked, fleshy skin was unrecognizable in its corpulence, and he realized that Bolg had succeeded in fattening him up for the cook fire. Now, he was roasting. His painfully hot skin began to glow red until it blackened, splitting open to reveal what lay beneath. The fat began to sizzle and melt off his bones, crackling as it hit the flames that were now beneath him. He was suddenly turning above the flames, skewered through from arse to mouth upon the cooking spit.

The pain was excruciating, and he tried to scream, but no sound could escape his open mouth. Beyond the light of the fire, in the grey shadows of the cavern, black, featureless figures loomed in the darkness, heedless of the fact that he was dying. Among them, he could begin to make out the sight of his brother, strung up by his arms, bleeding out from the gaping wounds in his chest and between his legs. Fili’s blue eyes cried out silently for help, but Kili could not save him. Desperately, Kili clawed with his fat fingers at the air, trying to reach for Fili, but at the sight of his own outstretched hands, he watched as his fingers were reduced by the flames to nothing more than cooked meat upon the bones. 

With a soft cry, he jerked himself awake. He was covered in sweat. The burning pain was still in his skin, and he quickly rolled away from the fire, having fallen asleep too close to the hearth in Beorn’s house. Shuddering, he drew his knees up to his chest and cradled his arms to his chest until the pain beneath his rib cage began to ebb, diminishing into little more than a low, tolerable ache.

 _It was just a dream,_ he told himself, trying to remember where he was, and that the worst was over now.

Sniffling quietly, he looked down at himself, nakedness half shrouded in Oin’s overcoat. He was his ordinary, familiar self. His body was what it had always been, if not still battered from his recent captivity. But in looking at himself now, his eyes caught on the bit of flesh that sat like a soft little pillow around his navel, and the disgusting memory of Bolg’s hands upon his skin seemed to cut into him like a heated blade through butter.

He suddenly felt sick. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed both hands to the raw, growling sensation in his stomach, unsure if he was feeling nausea or hunger, or if he could tell the difference anymore. It had been days since he had consumed anything beyond the medicated milk, and of that, he had drank little, too wary of the last things he had consumed before their escape. By now, though his appetite had returned in earnest, he could not bring himself to touch the bread and honey and green food from Beorn’s pantry. 

He was startled from his thoughts by a shuffling noise behind him. When he turned, his brother was there, wearing one of the thick wool blankets like a robe. Slowly, moving like an old man, Fili sank down next to him, opting to lay on his side in the warmth of the hearth rather than sit.

“I heard you cry out, Kee,” Fili told him, face shadowed. “Is it pain or dreams?”

“Both,” Kili confessed, drawing Oin's coat around his body to shield himself. “The pain is there in my dreams, and the nightmares… I dream of us dying.”

“It’s over now,” Fili said. He reached for Kili’s hand. “We are safe here.”

“Are we?”

“Beorn has shown us nothing but kindness and patience.” Fili slid closer, embracing him. “And, if Balin is to be believed, he can turn into a large bear. No doubt he could easily kill Azog or Bolg if they were to come here. Kili, we left Bolg badly hurt. Blinded, I think. And I severed his heel. He won’t be chasing you again.”

Fili's words rolled off Kili like water off a duck's back, doing little to comfort him. 

“I don’t trust the bear man," he said in a whisper. 

“He’s gruff, but kind,” Fili lay his head on Kili’s shoulder. “Like Uncle.”

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t... I _can't..._ trust anyone anymore. Not even Balin.” Kili was loathe to admit it. “I only trust you. You’re the only one who… who…”

 _Understands,_ Fili finished, silently. “Balin and Oin and Beorn, they don’t know what was done to us. Not entirely.” 

Kili left it unsaid that Balin and Oin had seen the awful wounds between his legs, in that shameful place, or that they knew the extent of damage that had been done to Fili. Still, there were things that no one but Fili knew -- how Bolg had forced Kili to eat until he was sick, _what_ Bolg had forced him to eat. How many times Azog had violated Fili, or the things the orcs had said in order to break them.

Biting back tears, Kili said, "They don’t know the truth.”

“It doesn’t mean they cannot at least try to help. Balin is our mentor, our teacher. And Oin our doctor. Uncle trusts them. We must as well.” He sighed. “We don’t have to tell them everything, Kee. I don’t want to tell them _everything._ To speak of it, I’d have to relive it… how helpless I felt. No… I don’t want to tell them. I have no wish to speak of it.”

“Nor I.” Kili lowered himself until he was resting with his head in Fili’s lap. There, in the warmth of his brother’s touch, he felt safe enough to let the tears fall, and so he gave himself over to his grief. How easily he cried these days. Through his tears, he said, “I don’t want to tell them anything, either."

“Then we will not.” Fili caressed his hair gently. “You and me, nadad. As it should be.”

Kili nodded silently, but at the sound of the door opening from across the hall, he startled and bolted upright. It was only Oin. That made Kili breathe a little easier, but he was still on edge.

The old healer approached the two brothers. “Fili,” he said, gently chastising, “You ought not to be up and walking yet, laddie. Things won’t heal right if you keep disturbing them.”

“I’m going mad in bed, Oin,” Fili explained, “And I couldn’t sleep. I had a bad dream.”

Kili turned to Fili, astonished at the lie. Fili was not one for falsehoods -- in fact, he was honest to a fault -- but now, Kili could not help but feel a small twinge of gratitude at Fili’s covering for him.

 _Thank you,_ he mouthed, silently.

The hand in Kili’s hair stilled and Fili smiled down at him. What he couldn’t tell his brother is that his words were the truth. His dream had been one of ice-colored eyes and heavy white skin, pressing down upon him, into him. A low, thudding pain emanated from in his bowels at the image, and he forced the haunting thought from his mind.

“Well,” Oin said, “I understand the cabin fever. I myself suffered a broken leg some decades ago, and spent no less than six days in a bed. ‘Twas terrible. Not that... it quite compares, though.”

“What does that mean?” Kili’s voice had taken on an edge of defensiveness.

“Eh?” Oin leaned in with his ear trumpet.

“Kili’s asking what you mean by that,” Fili clarified, with a gentle, weary smile.

“Oh, nothing really. Just that it’s not fair to compare injuries. Different dwarves have different experiences, is all I’m saying, and it’s not right to say that a broken leg is the same as… as… a punctured lung, or what other things they put you lads through.” Oin was clearly trying to backtrack now, and he had reddened beneath his silver beard. “I meant no offense, truly.”

Fili squeezed Kili’s arm in warning, lest his brother lash out. “We appreciate your encouragement,” he told Oin. _Please don’t say anything else,_ he begged silently. _Please, just leave us._

“Well, it’s what I aim to do,” Oin said, with an overly cheery smile that only made Fili feel awkward. “Try to be encouraging. And ensure that you lads heal well.” He gave the princes a brief nod and made his way to the bed and began to turn down the sheets. “Fili, when you’re ready, I’ll help you back to bed. You should rest for a few days longer, lad.”

Fili turned his gaze to his brother. “I fear he’s right about that, Kili. Come with me?”

Wordlessly, Kili nodded, and he slowly climbed to his feet. He extended a hand for Fili, who took it and allowed Kili to help him back up, and together they painstakingly made their way towards the bed.

They were halfway from the hearth to the bed when Kili thought he heard a sound like a great beast roaring in fury from beyond the walls of the house. He stopped and stared at the door, heart suddenly racing in his chest.

“Fili?” he said, fear giving an edge to his words.

“Our host, I imagine.” Fili’s forehead bore a sheen of sweat from his efforts. “That’s surely enough to keep the orcs away.”

Beyond the walls, the roaring grew louder, and Kili thought he heard the sound of yelling. He stumbled back in surprise, bare feet slipping on the wood, when the door burst open as the entire company rushed into the hall. In the commotion that followed, the terrified dwarves slammed the door shut upon the massive bear. Beorn’s great maw gnashed at the intruders, huge teeth snapping at the many hands and hairy heads. Amidst the yelling, Kili could hear Thorin’s voice, loud above the rest.

“Get the door closed!” Thorin bellowed.

The company all heaved against the wood until the bear slipped back into the darkness and the dwarves succeeded in slamming the heavy door shut. Dwalin shoved a beam into place across the door, and the many dwarves fell against the barrier, chests heaving.

“Thorin!” The smile that suddenly broke across Fili’s features was one of genuine joy.

The king spun at the sound of Fili’s voice, dropping his sword as he immediately rushed to the princes. 

“By Mahal!” He swept his nephews up in a crushing hug, only letting up when Fili gave a sharp cough of pain. Tenderly, he brushed a hand over his nephews' hair, for he had feared to never see them again. “My lads, Fili, Kili! You are safe… Thank the makers and our fathers!”

“Uncle!” Kili gave an incoherent sob as he fell against Thorin, clutching tightly to his overcoat, all pain forgotten in the sense of relief that rushed through him. “You found us.”

“Oh, my sister-sons… my lads.” Thorin’s voice had dropped to a whisper and he repeated the litany until his words were laced with tears. “I’m here now. Finally, I am here.”


	10. Purpose

Fili tried so hard not to let tears come that he simply wound up trembling. “I-I’m sorry, Uncle, I’m a bit unsteady on my feet.” He wasn’t quite ready to move away from Thorin’s embrace, despite the odd looks he and Kili were getting from the others. 

Ori put a gentle, concerned hand on Fili’s shoulder and Fili lifted his own hand to squeeze it in affirmation. “We’re very happy to see you up and about,” Ori told him, moving away to give them their space. He seemed to sense that Fili and Kili had been through a terrible ordeal.

“We got away,” Fili tried to assure Thorin, but his tone verged on the desperate. “Kili was so brave, Uncle.” His blue eyes sought out Kili’s brown ones. 

"What happened?" Thorin demanded in a hoarse voice. Gently, he took up Fili's chin in his hand, turning his nephew's face to the side to inspect the bruises. Something tightened inside his chest at the sight of the wounds. "Azog will pay for this, I swear to you!"

"Thorin..." Kili murmured it against Thorin's overcoat, with his face buried in the furs. Now that he was safe in Thorin's embrace, he did not want to let his uncle go. But when Thorin loosened his arm around Kili's shoulders, gently pushing him back to arms length before turning towards him, scrutinizing, Kili found himself unable to look his uncle in the eye.

"You are injured as well," Thorin said. His words were heavy with concern and anger.

Kili gave a weak nod. "Not so bad," he stammered out. "Fili had it worse."

Thorin turned back to Fili, wincing as he trailed his eyes over his nephew's injuries, the pained way with which Fili drew breath, his sallow features. He traced his fingers over Fili's cheek, but withdrew his hand when his nephew flinched, almost imperceptibly. "What did he do to you?"

“Nothing that bears repeating,” Fili said quietly, eyes not meeting Thorin’s directly. “What matters is that we got away. We might have perished if Gandalf hadn’t found us and brought us here to Beorn. We owe our lives to the two of them.”

Thorin turned his attention to Gandalf. "Beorn?"

"Our host," Gandalf said, eyes fixed upon the massive door, beyond which they could still hear the growling of the bear.

"That _beast_ !?" Dori cried. "It's some sort of enchantment, it's unnatural!"

"He's under no enchantment but his own," Gandalf gruffed, "and were it not for him, Fili would be dead, and Kili in no position to be up as he is now. The least you can do is give Beorn some gratitude."

Fili felt himself redden in shame, and he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to meet the inquisitive, probing gazes of the other dwarves. Beside him, Kili gave a pained, wordless noise of protest and hid his face in his hands.

"But you are alive," Thorin said, trying to reassure his nephews. When Fili at last met his eyes again, Thorin smiled, trying to reassure him. "You are healing, and we can be underway again soon. Yes?"

“I…” Fili looked helplessly to Oin and Balin. “I have some stitches, as does Kili. I’d be lying if I said I felt my best. But, we don’t want to delay your quest. Durin’s Day can’t be long away.” He didn’t mention his punctured lung, nor the other injuries too shameful to discuss.

“Can you ride?” Dwalin wondered. 

“I don’t know,” Fili answered honestly. “I’ve only just been up walking around the past two days.”

"Best we let the lads rest," Balin said, placing his hand upon Fili's forearm.

"We will stay for the night," Thorin said. "In the morning, if you lads can ride, we will continue on our journey but if not, we must leave you here to rest. You can join us when you are healed."

Fili turned to his brother, whose eyes were as wide as gold coins in his drawn face. _Why go to the bother of trying to find us,_ those expressive eyes said, _If only to leave us behind?_

And yet, Fili found himself yawning, yearning to do exactly as Balin suggested--get back into bed. “Perhaps Beorn would be the best judge of our ability to travel,” he suggested to his uncle. He sat gingerly down on the edge of the bed, trying vainly to hide the wince that accompanied the movement.

“Fili?” Ori rushed to his side, only to be waved off.

"He's right," Balin told Thorin. He leaned in close and whispered loud enough for only Thorin to hear, "We should discuss this further once the company is asleep."

Thorin gave Balin a terse nod, understanding, before starting for the bed, with Kili still clinging to his side. He encouraged Kili to sit on the edge of the bed, and only once the brothers were reunited did Kili break his hold upon Thorin's coat. Frowning, Thorin pulled back and watched as Kili gingerly moved to hide himself beneath the covers, seemingly too distraught to let himself be seen.

"Fili," Thorin said, turning his attention to his heir. When Fili lifted his eyes to him, Thorin could see the hand-shaped bruise around his throat, and his rage came bubbling up inside him once again. Though the bruise had faded to yellows and greens, it still stood out starkly against Fili’s pale skin. But he did not mention the injury, instead choosing to reach into his pocket to pull forth the twin hair clasps. He pressed them into Fili's hand. "I am glad you are safe."

The tight lines of pain around Fili’s forehead and mouth smoothed out and his eyes raised from the familiar metal clasps to Thorin’s face. “We took care of one another. As you taught us, uncle.”

"I am glad to hear it," Thorin said, softly.

Fili's words had brought a small smile to Thorin's lips. Though it pained him to see his nephews like this, wounded and exhausted from their ordeal, he still was heartened to see Fili's spirit unbroken. Words could not express his gratitude, nor the relief he felt at seeing Fili and Kili again. He hoped silently that they would heal quickly, for after having come so close to losing them, he wanted nothing more than to keep them at his side forever, where he could not forget again how dearly he thought of them.

He laid a reassuring hand upon Fili's shoulder and the back of Kili's head. To them both, he said in a soft, kind voice, "You are good lads, as dear to me as sons. Now, get some rest. I will stay with you through the night."

Thorin did not, however, fail to notice that Fili shrugged out from under his hand a bit too quickly, and when Oin joined them at the bedside with a massive mug of milk in his hands, Fili reached immediately for the milk, all attention fixed upon the drink. He took several long draughts and handed it to his brother. Slowly, Kili slid himself out from under the covers and took a small sip of the creamy liquid before disappearing once more beneath the blankets.

“What’s in that milk?” Bombur quietly voiced what all witnessing it must have been thinking.

"It’s a sedative," Balin said, watching as the two princes quickly seemed to grow drowsy, and began to nod off. He joined Thorin by the side of the bed and waited until both Fili and Kili had fallen asleep. "And something to dull the pain. Fili's been consuming it by the gallon, poor lad."

"If it helps them heal," Thorin murmured, "then let them have it. They need the rest before we travel again."

Balin gave a low, disapproving noise, and he cocked his head to his left and moved away towards the fireplace, followed by his king. Once they were standing before the hearth, as alone as they could be in the vast, open stable that their host called a house, he said to Thorin, "They should not travel, not yet. Not after what has happened to them."

"And what has happened? I would have you tell me." Thorin clenched his jaw and glared at Balin, filled with hatred for what Azog had done to his nephews. "What horrors did my sister-sons live through at the hands of the defiler?"

Balin, Thorin’s closest advisor, who quite truly owed his own life to Thorin, felt compelled to tell the truth. But he simply could not bring the words to his lips. He owed Fili and Kili their dignity, what shreds of it they had left. “They were subjected to the worst possible torture imaginable, and lived to tell about it. And they are suffering, Thorin. Far worse than any of us can fathom.”

"Torture," Thorin repeated. His voice was merely a whisper. He turned his eyes to the fire, watching as the flames slowly devoured the wood within the hearth. "Tell me honestly, Balin. Is it wise to continue this quest with them, given what has happened?"

“My fear is that they will go mad if we take the quest from them.” Balin lay a hand meant to comfort on Thorin’s forearm, “A sense of purpose--a distraction from the horror and the pain--may be the only cure.”

Thorin was silent, wondering if it was wise to leave with Fili and Kili still injured. But he fully understood Balin's concerns. The quest to reclaim Erebor had brought with it purpose for Thorin, instilling in him a vibrant sense that finally, after all these long years of standing in the memory and shadows of his forebears, he was making something of himself, and was worthy to call himself a king of Durin's line. He understood the need for purpose, especially in easing the pains incurred by an unhappy life. He could not in good conscience take that from his beloved nephews.

"Then we leave at dawn, as planned," he said at last. "With Fili and Kili."

Balin nodded. “They will recover more quickly once we are on the road. I feel it,” he asserted. “We will take along some of Beorn’s medication, of course. And all of us must keep a watchful eye on them.”

Thorin, despite his eagerness to carry on in the quest, had not missed the trapped, defeated, skittish looks that had flitted over his nephews’ features, despite how valiantly they fought to hide their emotions. Both were still suffering the pain of their attacks--and no small share of shame. 

As he watched Kili roll over in his sleep, embracing Fili and burying his head on Fili's uninjured shoulder, Thorin hoped he was making the right decision.

\-------

Kili awoke in the dead of night with a gasp and to a deep, painful cramping in the pit of his belly. A wave of panic swept up through him and he struggled to catch his breath until, slowly, he realized that he was already breathing, but far too quickly. He forced himself to slow and deepen his breath until the panic of waking subsided. Once the terror had run its course, he was left with nothing but the pain. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think on the sensation that reminded him of his body's needs. He had suppressed the need for days in growing discomfort, knowing how painful and humiliating the experience would be when he finally caved. But the sensation had grown steadily worse, and now, he really had no choice but to take care of the most basal of bodily functions. 

He didn't want to do it. Especially now, with the company, with Thorin, here in this safe haven. He should have done this earlier, before they had come. But as much as he chastised himself for his stubbornness, he could not erase the need, nor continue to ignore the cramping agony. 

Carefully so as not to wake Fili, he pushed back the covers and hauled himself out of bed, pulling Oin's overcoat tightly around his body. He silently limped off towards the front door, wary of the dwarves who slept around the hall. He raised the cross beam on the door, and as the wood gave a noisy creak, he gasped and frantically glanced over his shoulder, eyes falling on Thorin. His uncle slept with his back to a pillar near Fili’s bed, and he stirred a little, but did not wake. Kili exhaled silently in relief and turned his attention back to the door until he could slip away unnoticed. 

As Kili went, he did not see the eyes that watched him. Through slitted lashes, Ori observed Kili’s departure. He had to be going to relieve himself, Ori thought. It was the only reason to go outside this time of night. It suddenly struck Ori that this was the perfect time to get Kili to speak about what had happened to them. In his readings about treatment of soldiers after battle, Ori had learned that the best treatment for battle sickness was to talk about what they had seen and done. 

How badly Ori wanted to help. He couldn’t bear to see his lifelong friends hurting. Quietly, he pushed away the covers and followed Kili towards the door, discreetly so as not to wake the others. 

Once he was outside, Kili took a moment to orient himself to his surroundings. He had been unconscious when Gandalf had brought him here, and so he had little sense of what he would find outside the comforts of Beorn's house. Above him, the stars glittered in the blue-black sky, and a gentle breeze kissed his face. But his attention was on himself, barely on the garden around him, and the only thing he cared about was finding some place to relieve himself. 

He staggered off into the garden, clenching a fist to his abdomen when a particularly strong cramp twisted inside him. Eventually his eyes fell upon a small, wooden structure several yards behind the house. Desperate, he hurried towards it, hoping beyond all else that is wasn't a mere garden shed. _A foul way to repay Beorn for his kindness, shitting in his flower pots,_ Kili berated himself. But once inside, he nearly laughed in relief for it was just the place he needed. 

What was normally a routine act of being alive turned out to be horribly painful, and in that, also humiliating. It took far longer than it should have, and every moment upon the oversized toilet deepened his sense of shame. As the passing minutes stretched on, his misery grew until he could no longer take the anguish. He began to weep, both in pain and in disgust with himself. He let himself descend into despair, where the sensations in his body brought his memories rushing back to him, and he relived Azog's violence until he was devoid of everything, left exhausted and empty and numb. But at least the pain had finally subsided. And now, with the foul business finished, at last he was able to collect himself and clean up and leave the outhouse, returning to the garden. 

The brisk, cool air felt clean in his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, calming himself with the scent of trees and earth and fragrant dew that had gathered upon the grass. The sky above him had lightened from its deep indigo to a warm, purplish blue, and upon the eastern horizon above the trees, the first glinting tendrils of light from a red sun rising began to show themselves upon the clouds. 

He sighed, unhappily. He must have been in the outhouse for longer than he'd thought. 

While Kili had been in the outhouse, Ori had found himself a place to wait on the stone bench in the center of Beorn’s tomato patch. He had tried not to listen to the sobbing, nor think on how long it had taken for Kili to finish. But now that Kili was done, he had his chance. As Kili emerged into the garden, Ori looked up, watching him as he dropped his head back and inhaled the cool night air. It was still dark enough that Kili didn't see him, so he cleared his throat and stood, approaching as Kili’s eyes snapped to his in surprise. 

"There's herbs to help you with that," Ori said quietly. "They soften the stool and you'd suffer a lot less.” Then hesitantly, he added, “They raped you, didn't they?" 

"Wha--!" Kili startled and stumbled back, nearly tripping over his feet. As Ori quickly rushed to his side and held out his hands to stabilize him, Kili shoved his friend off, but quickly turned on him, grabbing him by the collar. "What did you... How dare you? How _dare_ you!?" 

"I saw you leave and you looked distressed," Ori spluttered. "Please, Kili, don't be angry with me. I want only for your safety. You're in pain; you were in the outhouse for over an hour. You were hurt... _down there_... weren't you? You can talk to me about it. I hope you will." 

"They didn't touch me!" Kili spat out the lie as if its utterance would change what had happened to him, or erase the fact that of all people, it was _Ori_ who had followed him out here and stuck his nose into Kili's business, prying too deeply into that raw wound that not even Kili had fully admitted was there. He didn't want to acknowledge what had happened, not even to himself. But Ori had figured it out so quickly, and had so openly said that cruel, awful word, leaving Kili nothing for himself but the empty falsehood that he might still be whole. He suddenly hated Ori for saying nothing but the horrible, brutal truth. 

"Leave me alone," he growled furiously. 

He broke eye contact with Ori and shoved his way past him, breaking off into a sprint for the house. _They raped you, didn't they?_ The words repeated themselves in Ori's voice inside Kili's head, over and over and over. He ran as if he could outrun the words, but as he neared the door to Beorn's house, he stopped, realizing that if Ori knew, perhaps the others knew as well. Perhaps Thorin knew. The thought of that was more than Kili could bear. 

He gave a desperate sob and ran for the garden gate, out towards the wilderness where he could get away from his companions and their prying. But before he could reach the gate, two dwarf-sized figures emerged from the shadows to block his path, and he ran straight into Thorin and Dwalin. 

"No!" Kili howled as Thorin grabbed hold of him. "Let me go!" 

"Kili, stop!" Thorin's voice was stern but gentle in Kili's ear, and he closed a hand upon the back of Kili's head, pulling him in close. "It isn't safe out there, lad. Calm yourself." 

Kili continued to struggle as he felt Dwalin's strong hands close upon his arms, keeping him from flailing about. Someone was screaming. Soon, he realized that the voice was his own, echoing off the garden walls. The shame consumed him, and he collapsed in despair against his uncle, letting Thorin hold him until the terror finally began to subside. When his screaming finally died down, he realized he was sobbing, like the petulant child he was. 

"It's my fault that he ran," Ori tried to explain to them. "I tried to talk to him about what happened." His eyes grew wide as they fell upon the bite mark on Kili's exposed shoulder. "I-I thought it might help. I was wrong. I'm sorry, Kili," he whispered, ashamed, not even sure that Kili heard him, and slunk back into Beorn's house. 

Thorin watched Ori go. When he had awoken to see Kili absent from the house, it had been a moment of panic, but after seeing that Ori had also left the house, he had realized that they were outside, and he had quickly awoken Dwalin and they had followed the lads outside. When they had heard the commotion from behind the house and saw Kili running for the garden gate, they had quickly intervened, and now Thorin was beginning to piece together what had happened. 

He had heard nothing of their conversation, but was alarmed by how distraught Kili seemed to be at Ori’s confrontation. Thorin understood Ori's yearning to help, for he too longed to know what had happened. But he could not bring himself to pry, for whatever burden Kili carried was one that he so clearly refused to share, for in the sharing, he would reveal the vulnerability that he had always fought to hide. 

How badly, Thorin knew, that Kili wanted to be seen as capable, and strong. Thorin wondered then, as he guided Kili back to the house, if he was in some way responsible for the sense of burden that Kili now carried. 

Even Dwalin seemed to sense Kili’s distress. His eyes fell to the place where Azog's fangs had pierced Kili's skin, and he was consumed with anger. "I trust you gave it back to them, lad," he told Kili gruffly. "That, and then some." 

"Indeed, Fili said you fought well," Thorin said. He lowered his voice. "I want you to know, Kili, that whatever happened, I will never think less of you. And I will not rest until I see Azog's head on a spike." 

"That's no consolation," Kili lamented. His voice was heavy with grief. "It will never change... what happened. Oh, Thorin... I'm sorry." 

“You have nothing to regret, Kili,” Thorin lay his forehead against Kili’s. “You fought well, you and your brother. You got away. Very few would have escaped Azog’s clutches. I’m so proud of you.” 

Kili knew that he should have felt honored by Thorin's words. Never before had his uncle so openly expressed pride in him, Kili, the younger and more reckless brother, and to hear it should have made him swell with an unspoken elation that only later would he brag about to Fili. But to think that it had taken capture and torture and escape with little more than his life for Thorin to feel proud of him...there was a profound sadness to that. 

He hung his head, wordless in his grief, as Thorin escorted him back into the house. And once they were inside, he quickly returned to Fili's side, knowing that he would never share Thorin's words with his brother. 

"I'm tired, uncle," he said to Thorin, who had followed him back to the bedside. It was true, he was drained after his outburst, but more than anything, he just wanted to be left alone with Fili, who in his drugged slumber would not ask him questions, nor make him feel ashamed for what they had both lived through. "Please, just let me sleep." 

Thorin nodded solemnly. "Of course. We'll be leaving in a few hours, and the rest will do you good." He made to brush Kili's hair out of his eyes, but stopped when Kili flinched and pulled away from his hand. The gesture pained Thorin, and he withdrew his hand. "Whatever I can do to make this right, I'll do it. You know that, Kili." 

Kili closed his eyes and curled up next to Fili, who murmured something soft in his dreams. 

_There is nothing you can do,_ he thought as he laid his head against Fili’s shoulder. _Just go away, uncle. Please stop looking at me like that, I can't bear for you to see me like this._

As if sensing Kili's shame, Thorin left the bedside and made his way to the hearth, from where he could watch his nephews in concern but with the distance he knew they both needed. He stayed there until Dwalin joined him, wordless, and Thorin took comfort in the silent presence of his old friend. Thorin watched his nephews. Kili remained latched to Fili's side, and soon his breathing evened out and fell into a rhythm with that of his brother. He then turned his attention to the rest of his company. A few of the dwarves still slept, but most were awake even though only Thorin and Dwalin were up and about, too troubled by what had happened to the princes to do anything but wait for the morning to break. In one corner, Dori whispered reassuringly to Ori, who cradled his head in his hands. Beside them, Nori stared off into the distance, a blank and distant expression upon his face. Across the hall, Bofur smoked hard upon his pipe while Bombur comforted himself with a honeycomb. It was a sad sight, the broken spirit of his company, and Thorin found himself thinking on Balin's words. 

_Purpose,_ Balin had said. 

_More like a distraction,_ Thorin knew. _For the longer we linger in the sadness here, the deeper the pain will sink within us, until all hope for this journey has been sapped from our bones and we are left with nothing but our grief for what has happened to my lads._

He knew then that he was making the right decision. They could not stay, least of all, Fili and Kili. The journey would be hard, but if they stayed, the despair might just kill them. 

"We leave at dawn," he said to Dwalin. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper so that only his old friend could hear. "Tell me I am making the right choice." 

"Whatever your decision," Dwalin said, "I will stand by it." 

Thorin nodded and turned his eyes to the fire. Sometimes, all he needed was the smallest reassurance.


	11. Mirkwood

The dawn was beginning to break when Thorin heard the creak of the door once again, and he looked up to see the entrance of a large, incredibly hairy man. He quickly made himself known to their host, who seemed unsurprised, if not somewhat unhappy, about the company’s presence in his home. 

“I was wondering when I would see you here,” the man said, narrowing his eyes as he neared the hearth, where Thorin had been brooding for the past few hours. “You have come to collect your injured kin,” he assumed. 

"Yes." Thorin cleared his throat, trying to hide his nervousness in the big man’s presence. "They are my nephews. I understand we owe you a great debt for nursing them back to health, and for your continued care.” 

As if he'd heard his uncle speaking of him, Fili rolled over in his sleep, only to give a muffled whimper of pain. He did not wake. Thorin watched him briefly in concern. "It's my hope,” he said as he turned back to Beorn, “that you can tell me more about the extent of their injuries, so we can best care for them as we travel." 

"I understand your need to know," Beorn said, "But I doubt that they would wish me to tell you the details." A look of sadness passed through his golden eyes, and he averted his gaze. As he turned his back on Thorin and made his way towards his herb cabinet, he said, "Torture brings with it more than physical pain. I would not wish to deepen the shame they now feel by telling you what happened. If you must know, ask them yourself. You are, after all, their uncle. But if you plan to travel, know this: you will not reach your destination, wherever it is, whether your lads are injured or whole. These lands are crawling with orcs, and they will hunt you down." 

Thorin glared up at Beorn. It bothered him that their host wouldn't speak to him of the extent of his nephew's injuries, but he let the issue go. Surely Oin or Balin would be more forthcoming with the information, in time. "It was my hope to impose upon you for one final favor: the use of some of your horses, to get us swiftly to the edge of the Greenwood.” 

"Under any other circumstances, I would not help you further." Beorn said, turning slowly to glower down at Thorin. " I don't like dwarves. They are greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than themselves." 

Thorin raised his chin defiantly. Host or otherwise, he had no right in insulting Thorin's pride. But he knew better than to cross this man who had brought his nephews back from the brink of death, and now might be their only hope of reaching the forest before nightfall. He bit his tongue, waiting for Beorn to finish. 

"But orcs, I hate more," Beorn growled. "Take what you need. For your journey, and for your injured kin." 

"I appreciate your candor," Thorin gave him a slight bow of deference. "I will not soon forget your kindness to my nephews in this most desperate time. They know not of gold or treasure, nor do I believe they are susceptible to its lure. I am sorry that your experiences with my kind have led you to make such assumptions about all of us." 

Beorn let out a scoff, as if he didn't believe a word of it.

"If I may ask," Thorin said, quickly, "the medicine--herbs is it?--that you've placed in the milk. Can we acquire some for the journey?" 

"Here." Beorn returned to the herb cabinet and pulled forth several sprigs from different plants and placed them in Thorin's hands. "You'll need to crush them first, then dissolve the sap in liquid. Water should work, but milk is better. You will need to ride at haste to reach the Greenwood alive, but doing so with your nephews..." He shook his head sadly. "It is not wise, what you are doing." 

I appreciate your advice," Thorin said as he placed the herbs in his belt satchel, fully intent upon ignoring Beorn’s counsel. "Our physician thanks you as well. Fili and Kili, I fear, in their convalescence, are spending too much time thinking on what was done to them by those monsters. What they need is to move on. And that is what we shall do as soon as everyone is awake and ready to travel." 

“It seems that will be soon,” Beorn said, looking past Thorin to the hall beyond. The dwarves were beginning to stir, and some had gotten up and were wandering about, alternating between gawking at the animals and gawking at the sleeping, injured lads, as if their wounds had made them specimens to be put on display for the entertainment of their companions. Beorn felt his lips turn up in revulsion, but he quickly turned and hid his disgust from Thorin. “See to your kin. They are waking.” 

Thorin hazarded a glance towards his nephews. Indeed, Beorn was right; Fili seemed to slowly be edging into wakefulness. He saw Ori also notice their waking, and before Thorin could join them at the bedside, Ori arrived there first. _Just as well,_ he thought, for over the course of this journey Ori had become a close friend to his nephews, and would be a better companion for them now than Thorin could hope to be. Instead of joining them as Beorn suggested, he merely waited until Fili opened his eyes, and he gave his nephew a brief, stern nod as if to say, _You will be stronger for this._

When Fili awoke, he was stiff and in pain all over. The ache in his shoulder and _deeper,_ was ever present of late. He tried not to think about how painful it would be to travel. Hadn’t Thorin said they were leaving this morning? Still, the alternative--laying here in bed and feeling sorry for himself and for Kili--was unthinkable. Upon meeting Thorin’s eyes, he saw there the look of disappointment writ upon his features. He felt himself redden, and he dropped his eyes to the blankets. 

“Can I help you with anything, Fili?” Ori asked him. Fili hadn’t even heard Ori’s approach. Ori’s grey eyes sadly studied the bandage round his chest and over his shoulder. “Does it hurt?” 

“It’s better now,” Fili said. He coughed to loosen the heaviness in his chest, but doing so sent a wave of pain coursing down his body and he fell back, gasping softly, against the pillows. “See to Kili, won’t you, Ori?” 

Ori looked anything but convinced that Fili was on the way to recovering. “I don’t like the sound of that cough,” he murmured, but conceded to Fili’s wishes. 

Kili was still sound asleep. No wonder, after what he’d been through earlier this morning. Ori put a tentative hand on Kili’s uninjured shoulder and shook him as gently as possible. “Kili?” he whispered. “It’s time to wake up.” He instantly regretted it when Kili’s eyes shot fearfully open. Startled into wakefulness, Kili shot upright and scrambled backwards, away from the unwanted touch. 

“Kili, it’s all right,” Fili said quickly, coughing again as he tried to reassure his brother. He forced himself to sit upright, and he gritted his teeth as Kili collapsed against him, shielding himself from Ori’s gaze. Fili looked up at Ori, who looked helplessly from one brother to the next, seeming to shrink in on himself. 

“It’s become a bit of a morning ritual for us,” Fili explained, pulling the edge of the blanket up over his younger brother. “I cough and Kili hides under the covers.” 

Ori huffed, unconvinced. “I’m worried about you two,” he told Fili. 

“We’ll be fine,” Fili said to convince Ori, only partially believing his own words. The aches in his body, though not as bad as they had been, still troubled him, and the pain in his chest had changed to a dull, wet throbbing that made him want to cough again and again until his lungs were free from the sickly feeling. He convinced himself that the burning and itching he was experiencing was because he was healing. That had to be it. 

“Thorin’s acquired some horses from our host,” Ori told the brothers. “He wants to leave as soon as we’ve gotten our things together. I wonder, as far as things… w-what I mean to say is, I imagine you’ll need some new ones. We can get you some spare clothing, and I can sew you some, of course,” he suggested, “and I’m sure the others have weapons you can borrow.” 

“Thank you, Ori,” Fili said softly. He turned to Kili and brushed the stray hair out of his eyes. “Do you think you can travel, nadad?” 

“I don’t know,” Kili whispered, but as his eyes returned to Ori, his face flushed a furious shade of crimson, and he quickly changed his mind. “Yes. Of course I can.” 

Without another word, Kili pushed himself up and out of the bed, avoiding the inquisitive stares of the company. _Why do they have to pry?_ he wondered, tears burning again in his eyes as he wrapped Oin’s overcoat more tightly around his otherwise naked form. 

The mention of horses and the possibility of riding sent an undeniable jolt of fear through Fili. He’d spent days in agony, with only the herbed milk to take the edge off the pain where Azog had brutalized him. He _was_ healing, Beorn has assured him. And now they were to ride? He felt sick to his stomach. 

“Perhaps you and I can share a horse, Kili,” he suggested, “and travel more slowly than the rest.” 

“I’m afraid that’s not goin’ to work, lads.” 

At the sound of Dwalin’s gruff voice, Fili looked up to see the older dwarf approaching. His face was grim, but his usually steely eyes seemed to carry the smallest bit of sympathy. 

“We must ride at haste,” Dwalin said. “Fili, you’ll share a horse with me. Kili will ride with Balin. That way, we’ll know if something goes wrong on the journey, and ye’ll not need to steer or guide the mount. Should be an easier ride that way.” He gave Fili a wry half grin and clapped him gently on the uninjured shoulder. “Not that ye lads need an easy ride, eh?” 

Fili’s eyes sought out Kili’s, hoping his fear didn’t show on his face. Why, that meant that Dwalin had to sit behind him, at his back, _touching_ him… He suddenly felt as if all the breath had been squeezed from his ailing lungs and his face began to tingle. “K-Kee?” he managed, to croak, his panic overriding his need to not upset the others. “Could I have some water?” he asked, finally, regaining his composure slowly. 

“I’ll get it,” Ori said immediately. He bounded off towards his belongings and hurried back with a waterskin, which he thrust into Fili’s hands. “Drink as much as you need.” 

“Leave him alone,” Kili snapped, pushing Ori back. “He doesn’t need you bothering him!” 

“OY!” Dwalin pushed his way between the two young dwarves. Without taking his eyes from Kili, he commanded in a brusque voice, “Ori, get yer things ready. Kili…” his tone softened. “What’s gotten into ye?” 

Kili fixed Dwalin with a furious glare. “What’s gotten _into_ me? He won’t leave us alone! I just want to be left alone, is that too much to ask? I’m fine--we’re fine! Now, go away!” 

Dwalin heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Look, lad. I know it can’t have been easy, whatever they did to ye. But don’t take your rage out on Ori. Save it for the orcs.” 

Without another word, Dwalin squeezed Kili upon the shoulder and stalked away to get his belongings together. Kili watched him go, feeling simultaneously glad and abandoned at seeing Dwalin’s departure. He turned back to Fili, but stopped as he saw the look in Fili’s eyes. 

Fili’s hands shook as he raised Ori’s waterskin to his lips and took a long draught. “There’s no need to be cruel, nadad. They all want to help. They all care for us.” And yet, his voice was tight with the strain of keeping his emotions in check. “We have to tell them, Kili--about the nature of our injuries. Riding will be… awful.” 

“No.” Kili’s voice was resolute, but the fear was etched in hard creases upon his face. “No, Fili…” 

“We’ll _bleed._ ” Fili squeezed his hand. “Reopen our wounds.” 

Kili shook his head furiously. “I don’t care,” he said in a whisper. “Please don’t tell them what was done to us.” 

Fili nodded, but the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. “Will you braid my hair, then, nadad? For the journey?” 

“Of course,” Kili said, sniffing back his tears. When Fili reached into the pocket of Balin’s coat and pulled forth the twin hair clasps and pressed them into Kili’s hands, Kili gasped softly, and he gave a small smile as he closed his fingers around the ornate metal. “I thought we’d lost these.” 

“Gandalf must have taken them to Thorin,” Fili explained, “as proof that we still lived. My small clasps -- the ones for my braids -- oh, I forgot. They were lost… in the caves,” his voice waivered. “Just do me up like you, then. That will be sufficient, won’t it?” 

Kili nodded and quietly set to work on tying back Fili’s hair in a manner like his own. It looked odd on Fili, less put together and far too disheveled, neither regal nor dignified. As if hair could tell the tale of how low the orcs had brought them. So he put in a single braid down the back of Fili’s head, and tied off the end with a cord. His own hair, he left unbraided. 

When Kili was finished, he looked up to see Ori returning to the bedside, with a pile of assorted clothing collected from the members of the company. Without a word, but with a look that said how much he already knew, Ori set the clothing on the foot of the bed and stood back until Fili thanked him quietly, and then Ori returned to the rest of the company with an apologetic backward glance over his shoulder. Kili watched him go, narrowing his eyes, hating Ori for his pity. 

Fili patiently divided the pile of the company’s spare clothing up between him and his brother. He gave Kili a shirt of light blue that was so large it clearly had to have come from Bombur’s bag. It hung to Kili’s knees until Fili found a sash in the bag to cinch it with. Bilbo had given them a pair of trousers that Fili handed to Kili. When Kili pulled the trousers on, he could not lace them around his waist. He was thicker in the middle than Bilbo was, and the fabric pulled uncomfortably at his sides, making him all too aware of the bit of padding above his hipbones that Bolg had found so entrancing. He winced, forcing himself not to think on that, and instead turned his attention to a pair of Bofur’s boots. They were uncomfortable, too; they curled up a bit at the toe and pinched at Kili’s feet. But at least, at long last, he was finally clothed. 

Left in the pile for Fili was a dark pair of trousers. He recognized by the familiar patch that they belonged to Bifur. Fili was grateful for the dark color, lest he start bleeding again. Thorin had given Fili his extra undershirt, and over it, Fili slipped--much to the amusement of the company--a dark green, shapeless cardigan knitted by Ori. It was warm, if a bit scratchy in spots. The smell reminded Fil of his friend, and safety, and he had to keep his eyes averted and on the fire until he was certain he wouldn’t burst into tears at Ori’s kind gesture. He completed the look with a pair of Ori’s knitted lavender night booties with leather soles. 

The clothes weren’t all that comfortable, and weren’t the same sorts of finery that the princes were used to, but they would have to do until they were in a position to purchase more clothing. Fili returned Balin’s outer coat to him and then moved to his uncle’s side. 

“I’d like to speak with Beorn before we go, if I may, Uncle,” Fili told Thorin. 

“Whatever you need,” Thorin said, giving Fili a warm smile. “Please convey my gratitude again for all that he has done for us.” 

As the rest of the party was mounting up, Fili stood by the massive doorway to speak privately with his rescuer. “I cannot express adequately to you my thanks for caring for me, and for my brother,” he told Beorn. “I know it wasn’t something you truly wanted to do, and that we were challenging to you, and yet you rose to that challenge.” He looked about quickly to be certain no one could hear what he was about to say. “It hurts when I breathe. That, and I still cannot draw a full breath. Do you--could you--might I take along with me some of the pain medication you were giving me? The idea of riding, so soon…” he didn’t feel the need to elaborate, and his shame was evident. “Can you help?” 

“I gave some herbs for the pain to your uncle.” Beorn dropped his voice and set a round, lidded pot in Fili’s hands. “As for the other parts, I’ve prepared this for you and your brother. Use it as needed. It will prevent infection. Your breathing, though, that troubles me. Forest air is heavy with pollen and spores that could damage your healing lung. If you find yourself unable to stop coughing, you must rest, otherwise sickness could set in. I do not know why your uncle insists on leaving now,” he added, with a disapproving scoff. “It’s damned foolish.” 

Fili had no response to that. He nodded at Beorn’s instructions, knowing full well that nothing could stop Uncle from constantly keeping moving--especially with all the time they’d lost so far. “I will not forget you,” he told Beorn. He slipped the tiny crock of salve carefully into the rucksack Beorn had given him, then left the house to join the others in the garden. 

The horses Beorn had provided were huge, not easily mounted like ponies. He’d watched as Thorin helped Kili up onto a log to allow for him to more easily climb up in front of Balin. The white-haired advisor’s face was grim as he watched the proceedings, and he leaned forward to whisper something that was only for Kili’s ears. 

“If you are in any pain,” Balin murmured, “let me know and I will stop. I would not wish to add to your suffering.” 

Kili kept his mouth shut, not wanting to tell Balin that the closeness of his body was eerily reminiscent of the feeling of Bolg against him, or the way that Balin’s sleeve brushed against his side drew too much of Kili’s attention to that curve of flesh that he still carried around his middle. Suddenly, the memory of Bolg’s fleshy hands upon his skin came rushing back to him. He felt sick, and was grateful that he hadn’t eaten, otherwise he might have lost his breakfast right there upon the horse’s mane. 

Fili’s eyes went questioningly to Dwalin’s. “Can you bring the horse to the log for me?” he asked of him. 

Dwalin gave the horse a rough kick in the flank, and the beast gave a disgruntled whinny as it trotted towards Fili. The animal seemed none too happy to bear Dwalin as a rider, and Fili’s stomach plummeted inside him at the prospect of sharing a mount with his cousin. But he let Dwalin help him up onto the back of the horse, thankfully seated behind the larger dwarf, where all Fili had to do was hold on and not be held. He never wanted to feel arms around him again. Still, he knew that after hours of riding, the position would not be a comfortable one for his injured shoulder and chest. He found himself wishing he’d taken just one more drink of Beorn’s milk before their journey, but he knew it wouldn’t do for traveling. 

“The Valar protect you,” Beorn called to them. “Go now!” 

At the front of the company, Thorin spurred his horse into a sprint, and the rest of the group followed suit. 

Normally, when faced with pain, Fili would breathe through it. But today, breathing was a luxury as well. After only a few minutes, he learned he’d have to cling tightly to Dwalin’s middle to keep himself steadied and lessen the bouncing as the horse galloped. But that very same action soon began to cause increasing pain in his punctured shoulder and chest. 

_It’s only a few hours,_ he kept telling himself. _A few hours until the Greenwood._

Those few hours turned out to be nearly a day, and it passed with nightmarish slowness. By the time they could see the edges of the forest, Fili was so deeply in pain that he had gone numb to all else, and he could do nothing except sag against Dwalin’s back and pray that each passing second was the last before they finally came to a stop. But finally, _finally,_ after many hard hours upon the horses, when the sun was low in the western sky and the shadows had grown long before them, they reached the edge of the forest. 

As soon as Ori’s feet hit the ground, his eyes turned to Fili. His friend was pale--far paler than he’d been at Beorn’s house, and his face was covered with a sheen of sweat, despite the relative coolness of the day. He extended a hand to help Fili down from the horse and Fili hesitated, as if the distance to the ground was daunting. “C-can’t jump,” he told his friend, arm clutching at his chest. “It hurts.” 

“Here, let me help you,” Bilbo exclaimed as he rushed to Ori’s side. He helped to stabilize Fili as Dwalin hoisted him from the horse and lowered him to the ground. “Ah, easy now!” 

Despite their best efforts at a soft landing, Fili let out a strained groan as his feet made contact with the earth. His knees buckled beneath him and he staggered forward, nearly falling until Bilbo caught him in his arms. 

“He’s hurt,” Ori said worriedly, eyes frantically searching Fili’s body for a sign of the injury. 

“I haven’t had any pain medication since last evening,” Fili offered, breathlessly, in his defense. “It was a long ride, and not a very comfortable one.” Still, he allowed Bilbo to support him, lest he give in to his body’s desire to simply lay down. He felt a pulling in his chest, which he hoped wasn’t a reopening of the puncture wounds that peppered his chest and shoulder. 

His eyes automatically sought out his brother. Kili was still in the process of climbing down from the horse, but unlike Fili, he refused any and all offered help. He jumped down on his own, but once his feet hit the grass, he tumbled to his knees and a sharp cry of pain escaped him despite his best efforts to maintain his crumbling facade of stoicism. 

“Kili!” Fili moved to rush forward, but Bilbo held him back, lest he hurt himself. 

“Where does it hurt?” Bofur asked Kili, as he offered him his hand to help him rise. 

“I’m fine,” Kili lied, but he took the outstretched hand and was silently grateful for the help back to his feet. 

“We need to hurry,” Gandalf told the entourage. “Just because we didn’t encounter any orcs on our ride doesn’t mean they aren’t following us. Let the horses return to their master. We’ll continue through the Greenwood on foot.” 

“This forest seems… sick,” Bilbo said, looking past Fili towards the trees. “It feels off.” 

“It certainly isn’t very green,” Nori concurred, pulling his cloak over his shoulders. 

“Are you sure it’s wise,” Balin said to Thorin, “to bring Fili and Kili into that dank, horrid place?” 

“We can’t stay here,” Thorin answered. “That is certain. We’d be risking all our lives.” 

“It’s two hundred miles to the north to go around,” Gandalf said, “and more than twice that distance south. The only way is through.” 

The prospect of walking was overwhelming to Fili. His legs were not troubling him, and for that he was grateful, but he was overcome with a lethargy that left him feeling like a tired, used shell of himself. Perhaps, he thought, he just needed to get moving… one foot in front of the other, and all would be well. He took from his belt the waterskin Ori had graciously filled for him, and took a few sips, trying to focus on breathing in, breathing out. When the lulling numbness of the herbs settled into him, he was left feeling nothing but exhaustion, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. 

“Balin,” Thorin said, “keep a close eye Kili. I’ll see to Fili.” 

“Uncle?” Kili asked, eyes trailing after Thorin as he went to Fili’s side. 

“It’s all right, laddie,” Balin said, but Kili barely heard him. 

“We’ll stay together through the forest,” Thorin told Fili. “Stay by my side, no matter what happens.” 

“I’ll try,” Fili said, suppressing a cough. 

“Stay on the path,” Gandalf commanded as he closed his hand upon the reigns of his horse. “I’ll join you on the other side.” 

“What?” Bofur cried. “Yer leavin’ us!?” 

“Pressing duties summon me elsewhere,” the wizard told them, tightening his horse’s saddle. “Carry on; our paths will cross again soon.” 

Kili watched helplessly as Gandalf spurred his horse into a gallop and sped away towards the south. With the wizard’s departure, a small piece of Kili’s hope withered within him. It was because of Gandalf that he and Fili were still alive, and for that, Kili was grateful, but now he was filled with fear and trembling, for now the wizard was leaving. He turned towards the foreboding forest, a feeling of apprehension growing inside him. If anything were to happen in there, he knew, the company would fare far worse without Gandalf there to help them. 

“He wouldn’t leave us if he thought harm might befall us, right?” Fili voiced his concern to Thorin. 

“Let him go,” Thorin said. “We’ll be all right without him.” 

Fili, normally comforted by Thorin’s bravado, instead felt a cold trickle of dread pass up his spine. Taking in the deepest possible breath he could muster without sending himself off into a fit of coughing, he squared his shoulders and turned his eyes to the darkened path through the murky forest ahead of them. 

As the party stepped into the woods, they could easily see the challenge in following Gandalf’s instructions to stay on the path. Even this close to the woods’ edge, the thin path was worn and broken in places. As they moved deeper into the forest, the dark trees enveloped the sky and swallowed up the sunlight. In the few patches where the light broke through the trees, it shimmered in the pollen-thick air and illuminated swaths of sticky webs that stretched through the boughs. The company found themselves stepping over and around the webs, and the spider silk clung to the boots of those unfortunate enough to disturb them. 

Fili kept his head down as he trudged along beside Thorin, for hours it seemed, until the patches of sunlight had faded into darkness that lightened only a little with the silvery wash of moonlight. Every breath ached in his chest and the pain of walking seemed to drive a stake up into his body. But he refused to admit that openly, and instead, forced himself to march, occasionally glancing up to see his uncle beside him, then ahead of him, cutting his way through the forest, all attention focused on their path. 

In the pain, Fili could barely pay attention to his surroundings. It was enough of a challenge to manage his suffering, let alone keep his wits about him. He staggered along, slowly falling to the back of the company. The voices of the other dwarves seemed like a distant, echoing beacon, and he willed himself to follow them. But his head was beginning to spin, and as he inhaled the forest air, a whiff of mushroom spores tickled his nostrils and made his throat burn. 

“Kili…” he gasped, hand clutched to the wound in his chest. Over the sound of his wheezing coughs, he heard no reply. “Kili!” 

The shriek of a bird high in the trees made his eyes snap open. He looked around for a familiar face--any member of the company would do--but his heart began to pound as he realized he was alone. 

“No!” His shout of desperation sent him into a fit of coughing and he collapsed to his knees upon the mossy earth. His fingers scrambled against the wet, dead leaves and he realized with a shudder of horror that he had lost the path. He had no idea how long he had been alone. The mushroom spores were playing tricks in his head, leaving him delirious. Around him, the forest undulated in a pulsating rhythm that made him sick to his stomach. When his nausea bubbled up inside him, he retched into the soil, ridding himself of the bile that had gathered in his belly. Between his gasps and wheezing coughs, he began to sob, knowing that if he was alone, he would die here. 

He forced himself to his feet and staggered onwards. The trees were menacing in the moonlight and the sounds of animals and fouler things seemed amplified from the effects of the spores. The pain, too, had grown stronger inside him, for without Beorn’s herbs, all the comforting numbness had worn off, leaving him in agony. He could vaguely feel something warm seeping down the insides of his thighs. He barely cared. He had to find Kili, and Thorin, and the rest of his kin. But he was alone, abandoned here in this dark, forsaken forest, left to die where his body would be eaten by the cruel, unfeeling beasts of the woods, never to be buried in stone. 

The threat of death drove him on, but his body was failing him. His limbs were quivering and his skin felt clammy to the touch but for his brow, which burned like fire when he rubbed his hand across his face to clear the tears from his eyes. He did not try to stem his tears. They had been long in coming, and now, when faced with certain death, he could not find the will to hide them. 

Weeping, he collapsed again, and this time, he stayed down. His legs refused to carry him any further. It seemed of no use, anyway. He had lost the trail hours ago, and now, as the sky began to lighten beyond the canopy, he knew that if even his kin backtracked to find him, they would only find his body. But even that was unlikely. He had never felt so abandoned, not even in Azog’s clutches, for then he had still had Kili. 

“Oh, Kili…” he said in little more than a whimper. His grief coursed through him then, for he had made a promise to their mother to protect him on this quest, and in that, he had failed. His eyes drifted closed, and he resigned himself to his fate. “I’m so sorry, brother.” 

As if in response to his despair, he heard the gentle rustle of leaves in the branches, and a soft sound that was almost like a voice. A low, hissing voice, but it was oddly comforting. And when he felt the tender touch of what might have been hands upon him, lifting him from the earth, he gave himself over willingly to the embrace of whoever had found him. Then a sharp pain in his chest forced his eyes open, but the world around him swiftly went grey. Before he lost hold of his senses, he thought he saw a cluster of shining gems, black as night and glassy like obsidian, in a row of eight, mere inches from his face. Then the vision faded, and he lost all consciousness.


	12. Brood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** _This chapter contains what could be construed as sexual abuse by an arachnid. If spiders or "drugged non-con" are triggers for you, you might wish to skip this one._

The spider handmaiden sat in her web, dozing. It was the tiniest tremor of the strands to her right that jerked her into wakefulness, and she immediately turned towards the vibrations. But nothing had been caught in the massive spread of strands that stretched through the tree branches as far as her many eyes could see.

_Something has entered the woods,_ she hissed. The message flew like wildfire through the boughs once the vibrations reached her siblings, nestled in their webs.

_What is it?_ demanded her queen, from her nest in a decaying tree that stood near the edge of the handmaiden’s web. _Is it food?_ she asked, eagerly.

The handmaiden crawled towards her. _Shall we go see, Queen Kashob?_

_Yes. Bring it to us if it’s food!_ Kashob ordered. She was gravid with eggs and in her confinement, dependent on the rest of the cluster to feed her and their impending brood. _We haven’t eaten in days._

_But your Magisterial Highness,_ the handmaiden said, _there are too few of us to take the prey; too few since the elves killed our siblings._

_They will be replaced,_ Kashob said dismissively, gesturing to her swollen abdomen. _Yes, we will have more offspring soon, yes. And they will help us take this forest, bit by bit and tree by tree until all these woods belong to us! Yes, it will be so!_

_But Mother!_ the handmaiden hissed, _We cannot feed anymore mouths, this is true! The deer and foul forest beasts hide where the elves protect them, and we have not eaten in weeks._

_Feel the tremors,_ the handmaiden’s sister hissed, crawling down from her tree towards the other two. _There’s something in these woods, something that’s not elves. No, not elves. Too clumsy to be elves. They will be an easy kill._

_Yes?_ Kashob perked up at the thought of another meal. She was famished, and needed food to nourish the younglings once they hatched.

_And your Magisterial Highness must have a host for our siblings, this is true,_ the handmaiden hissed gleefully, rubbing her front legs together in anticipation. _If they are not elves, they will do nicely._

_Then go find them, yes! Bring them to us!_ Kashob bade.

The handmaiden scuttled across the web to her sister and conveyed their mother’s command. She watched as her siblings followed the vibrations of the webs and disappeared into the trees, and she wondered if she would ever see them again. She hoped that they weren’t being baited. The elves did that from time to time, only to lead the spiders into a trap and to slaughter them once they had taken the bait. After several times of falling for that tactic, there were too few of the spiders left to fight off any enemy that found them in their nest, and it worried the handmaiden terribly. But once the younglings hatched, she knew, their numbers would be bolstered, and they could expand their territory deeper into the forest, possibly even driving the scrawny elves from the woods. That is, unless they ate them first.

But whether it was elves or some other edible creature in their woods now, she knew they needed the sustenance, and was glad to see her siblings go. More importantly to the handmaiden, Queen Kashob’s next clutch was dangerously close to their time. If they hatched inside her, they would consume her from the inside out, and the handmaiden had no wish to see that.

When more tremors shuddered through the webs, she turned her attention to the ground below. She was overcome with delight when she saw that indeed, it was no elf. It looked like a man, but shorter, and hairier. But whatever it was, it was sturdy, and had more meat on its bones than any elf she had ever seen.

The fair-haired biped below them walked with an unsteady gait, moving from tree to tree as if dependent on them for support. Clearly it had fallen victim to the spores. A whiff of its scent wafted to her and she knew.

_What is that?_ Kashob hissed. _Is it tasty?_

_I don’t know,_ the handmaiden said. She silently crept her way down the trees, towards her prey. _It looks to be sick._

_Sick, yes!_ the Queen exclaimed. _We can smell the sickness--the heat of fever and infection._

_You can use it for the hatchlings!_ the handmaiden exclaimed. _To warm and nourish them, yes, and to save you, Mother!_

_Do we dare? If it is sick, it could die before your siblings hatch._

_You must, my queen,_ the handmaiden insisted. _For the brood, and for you. It is weak, and will not resist much. And it will live, we think, until the eggs have hatched. This is true._

_Then bring it to us. Yes, we will use it._

Its eyes were nearly closed, and the handmaiden could hear its breath whistling in and out, when it wasn’t murmuring the same word over and over again -- a chant, a mantra. The creature was mad with fever, and liquid streaked from its two eyes. As it fell to its knees and collapsed upon the earth, the handmaiden descended towards it, tentatively at first. But there was no fight left in this one. It would be perfect. More confidently, she dropped to the ground beside it and crawled over it, positioning her stinger above its chest.

As she wrapped the prey in her many legs, she stabbed her stinger through its skin, injecting it with venom. The eyes snapped open and quickly went glassy, and the prey gave a soft moan before going slack in her grasp. She could feel its bones, fragile under its skin, as if it had not eaten well in some time, yet it still had a solid heft in her arms.

_Just think,_ she said as she plopped the prey into her mother’s nest, _the younglings will grow so nicely inside it. This is true. And it’s not long for this world anyways, yes. So we’re putting it to good use. Yes. This is true._

_Yes,_ Kashob hissed, pulling her gravid body up from her webs and stalking towards the prey. _It will do, child. Now, give us privacy._

With a mirthful hiss, the handmaiden scuttled off into the trees, leaving Kashob alone with the prey. She looked it over for a moment, trying to decide which end was up and why it had so few legs and wondering why the silly thing was wearing coarse, ugly webs over its hide. She ripped open the scratchy webs with her fangs and probed the prey’s body with her front claws, and when she found the opening between its two thicker legs, she realized that the prey was oozing fluids from inside, from some deep injury that probably was the cause of its sickness. She went to the other end, where she found its ugly, gaping mouth. She peered into the cavity, seeing the hollow dark space at the back that descended down into its body. When it breathed, she could feel the air coming from the cavity, and she watched as the chest slowly rose and fell in time with its labored breaths.

She surmised that filling its lungs with her brood could kill it, but she had seen creatures like this before, deer and orcs and elves and men, where the lungs and the stomach met in the mouth, and they used the same cavity for both eating and for breathing. It was ugly, and completely strange to her kind, but she imagined that she could use the mouth to access the gut and lay her eggs there in the belly, where they would incubate until hatching, greedily eating their way out once the prey had fulfilled its purpose.

Without any further delay, she crawled up over its face and slipped herself down its throat. The prey shuddered and made a funny sucking noise as she slid herself down the long, soft passageway until she felt something blocking her way. She probed it a little and found a gap that she could work her way through, and she pressed her feet against the prey’s belly, feeling her ovipositor push deeper into its abdomen. Satisfied, she focused her attention on her egg clutch, deep inside her own body, and gave in to the urge to release the eggs into their host. She felt a shudder of delight as the eggs began to work their way out of her, down the gullet of the prey and into its belly.

Once the process had begun, there was no stopping it. The eggs began to pump out of her into the vessel, slowly at first, but then more quickly, and she gave a delighted hiss as she felt the wave of relief course through her body as she rid herself of the younglings. Beneath her feet, the host’s belly began to swell as it was filled with her brood. The flesh slowly distended until the skin was stretched taut over the rounded bulge, and it seemed to become a little rounder, a little more grotesque with each additional egg.

Surely the swollen mass of the prey’s stomach must be making it harder for it breathe. But nothing could be done for it now. Further doses of venom would keep it from waking, and would keep it insensate until she had finished her task. She could only hope their host stayed alive long enough to nourish her offspring through the hatching process. That was all the prey was good for, to be consumed from inside by her younglings, and so long as it served that purpose, she would be satisfied.

Finally, she could feel the steady pulsing of her eggs begin to slow, and she had to push in order to get the last of them out of her body. When she had finished, she felt oddly empty, but one look down at the rounded, distended belly of her prey told her that she had succeeded. She slowly slid her spent ovipositor out of the prey’s throat, and its mouth fell closed once she had pulled herself free. Still unconscious from her daughter’s venom, the prey stayed slack and motionless but for its gasping, shallow breaths.

\- - - - - 

The rest of the company, while alive, did not fare much better. They’d strayed from the path hours ago under the influence of the toxic spores. Driven nearly mad with hallucinations and dehydration, it took hours before Kili came to the realization that his brother was gone. He went into an unprecedented rage.

“You promised you’d watch him!” He grabbed his uncle by his lapels and shook him. “Where’s Fili? Where is my brother?”

“He was here at my side just a moment ago!” Thorin yelled back, but he frantically looked past Kili to the rest of the company, and a sudden stab of fear struck him as he realized that Fili was not among their numbers. “Fili, where are you!?”

“It hasn’t been moments,” Bilbo said, barging up to Thorin and glaring up at him. “We’ve been in here for hours! Something in the air is fiddling with our heads. We’re all turned around.”

“Lunacy!” Dwalin barked. “Utter lunacy! We’ve lost the path, and the light.”

“Not to mention the young prince,” Bofur added, patting himself down and taking inventory of his own belongings.

“All is lost,” Ori muttered morosely. “Oh, Fili!”

“We need to find him.” Thorin immediately began marching back the way they had come, or at least the way he thought they had come, but he soon realized that he was completely disoriented, and there was naught so much as a track to guide his path.

“You’re going the wrong way!” Balin insisted, putting a solid hand on Thorin’s chest. “This won’t help the lad. We need to head east. We need to get our bearings.”

No one noticed when Bilbo slipped away from the party and began to climb a nearby tree.

“And what else should I do!?” Thorin snapped, wheeling on Balin. “I cannot leave him in this place.”

“No one wants that,” Balin said. “But we do not even know where we are, nor how long Fili has been missing from the company, and if we--”

“Hush!” Nori’s sharp whisper cut through the bickering. When Thorin turned to him, he saw that Nori had his hand raised, and was staring off, bewildered, into the distance. “Something is watching us.”

“Is it Fili?” Kili wondered, wavering unsteadily on his feet. “We must find him! He’ll die out here all alone!”

“Hush, lad!” Dwalin grabbed Kili around his waist and clapped a massive hand over his mouth. “There’s something… unfriendly, out there.”

In the trees around them, the humming and the buzzing of the insects had gone silent. The only sound Kili could hear was the shuffling of the company as they took up their weapons. He could almost feel the fear that hung in the air, thick like fog and reeking of sweat. A flash of shining black cut through the oppressive atmosphere, and suddenly the forest erupted in waves of living darkness.

No sooner had Kili seen the first of the spiders that they were upon the company, dropping onto the dwarves from above, grappling them in their massive, spindly legs. Kili felt one of the spiders jerk Dwalin away from him, and he spun, drawing his sword as another spider caught him by the leg and pulled him to the ground. A wave of pain burst through his belly as he hit hard, but as the spider yanked him back, his head smacked against a tree root, and stars exploded in his vision. He felt a shudder of numbness course through him, and as he came to moments later, he found that he was rapidly spinning, growing dizzy. He tried to move his limbs, but something sticky and very strong held his arms to his sides and his feet together. By the time he had fully regained his senses, he was immobilized, and felt himself being dragged across the rocky forest floor, away from the fading cries of his kin.

The last thing he heard from the direction of the company was the sudden shrieking of the spiders chased by the sound of voices, unfamiliar and lilting, in a language he did not know. He tried to cry out for them to help him, but the webs over his mouth swallowed his words, leaving him nothing but a pathetic, weak whimper that escaped only to die in darkness.

_I have to get free,_ he thought, frantically. He squirmed hard in his bonds, but the pulsing pain in his skull made it hard to focus on how to rid himself of the spider silk. He tried again to get free of the webs that clung to his limbs and face, making it hard to get any sense of his bearings. But suddenly, over the noise of his own thrashing, he heard a familiar, pained whimper, and he went still, focusing on the sound and the sense of hope that it instilled in him.

Kili heard his brother before he saw him. Fili’s labored breath rattled in his chest, coming and going with a high pitched wheeze. He wondered if he was dreaming, hallucinating again and only imagining Fili’s gasping breath, but when the spider deposited him on the ground, the sound stayed with him even as all other sensations diminished into the throbbing pain behind his brow.

He continued to struggle with the webs that encased him. Though the silk was pliant, the stuff was stronger than steel and refused to tear no matter how much he thrashed against it. He wriggled his fingers until he managed to get them free from the webs, and only then could he begin to tug the sticky strands away from his limbs. Once he had his arms free, he scrambled to unbind his legs, but the sound of a loud hiss followed by the sudden weight of a spider upon his body stopped him before he could free himself.

With a yell, he kicked both feet upwards, straight into the spider’s abdomen. It screeched and fell back, giving him just a moment to roll out of the way before the spider’s stinger came slamming down into the earth where he had just been. He scrambled in the leaves for something, anything, to use as a weapon, and his fingers closed on a thick branch that he brought up to smash into the spider’s snapping jaws. The branch hit its mark just as an arrow came whizzing from above him and embedded itself in one of the spider’s eyes. The beast fell back, dying, and Kili snapped his eyes to the source of the killing shot.

One of the elves had followed him here, and now she swiftly took down the last, massive spider with a well-placed slice of a long blade through its belly. The spider shrieked as it died, spewing its green guts all over a mess of webs and, to Kili’s horror, what looked to be a person, covered in webs and grossly misshapen, unrecognizable but for the familiar golden hair, barely visible beneath the sticky webs.

“Fili!” Kili cried, renewing his struggles to free himself from the web.

The flurry of noise and activity roused Fili from his stupor. His entire body felt heavy and unable to move. Everything hurt. Painstakingly, he rolled his head in the direction of the fracas. Through the blurred lenses of his eyes, he watched as his brother grappled with a giant spider. “K-Kee?” he managed, though his tongue felt sluggish and dry, his throat, painfully sore. He tried to extend his right hand to reach for him, but all he could accomplish was a twitch of his fingers. “M’sick, Kee. Help...”

Kili managed to get his legs free and shot to his feet, only to find himself at the end of an arrow, aimed by a tall, auburn-haired elvish huntress. She fixed him with a fierce glare as three of her kin joined them, arrows all drawn and pointed at Kili.

“He’s my brother!” Kili cried to the she-elf. “Please, let me help him.”

“Go,” the huntress commanded, with a jerk of her head that sent her long locks flying. But she still kept her arrow trained on Kili as he rushed to Fili’s side.

Kili quickly freed Fili of the webs and gave a startled cry as he laid eyes upon his brother’s battered body. Fili was breathing, but only barely. What was more horrifying was the shape of him. Fili’s entire abdomen was pushed out, straining beneath his skin with something that made Kili’s heart plummet within his chest. Kili almost touched Fili there, but recoiled when he saw the rippling of the skin, and he suddenly knew just what had been done to his brother.

_Mahal, no... This cannot be!_ he thought despairingly. He had to be imagining this. Everything about this forest was a nightmare, and this had to be--it _had_ to be--a terrible dream.

Fili’s eyes were but slits of dark blue in the dim light, and they glittered feverishly. “C-can’t breathe, Kili,” he whimpered. “Can’t move.” He let out a pained moan as the skin of his stomach rippled. “Ah, no…” tears sprang to his eyes. “What is it?”

“We need to get him to my people,” the she-elf said, rushing to Fili’s side and shoving Kili out of the way.

Kili made to push her away from his brother, but the look of concern in her eyes stopped him. He fell back upon his heels, watching helplessly as the huntress scooped Fili up into her arms, cradling him as if he were a large, heavy child.

“He will die if we do not help him.” She began to make her way back through the trees, more slowly than if she had not been carrying Fili, but Kili still had to jog to keep up with her. The entire time, he had the arrows of the other elves aimed at his back, but he hardly noticed that he was their prisoner. All his attention was fixed upon Fili.

As they hurried through the trees, Kili’s eyes stayed trained upon Fili, watching him in his agony. The pain that Fili was in was palpable, and Kili felt the tears stinging in his eyes as he ran. They were not tears for himself, not any longer. Now, he wept for Fili, for he no longer knew if Fili would even live. But Kili was certain that even if Fili survived, he would never be the Fili whom Kili had known, had loved. In that, it seemed, a part of Fili had already perished, and even if he lived through the cruelties that fate had heaped upon him, that good and noble part of Fili would cease to be.

_I will stay with you, brother,_ Kili thought desperately as he sprinted to keep up with the elves. _And if you die here, I will join you in the Halls of Waiting, for I cannot live without you._


	13. Prison

Legolas stood at the far end of the bridge that crossed into his father’s kingdom. He was ready to mount up and ride out to find his kin when he heard rustling in the trees above. Not long after, in a swoosh of fiery hair and lithe body, Tauriel appeared in front of him. Most shocking was the curious cargo she carried--a dwarf with golden hair and a stomach so distended it appeared as if he’d engulfed one of his own kind.

“Brought home a stray, have you, Tauriel?” Legolas scoffed, in their lilting tongue. At that moment, a second dwarf appeared behind her, visibly winded from the run, blood trickling from a wound beneath his straggly dark hair. 

“We found the dwarves near the spiders’ nest.” Tauriel said, somewhat breathlessly. “The spiders are dead, but we must treat this dwarf, or they will return. Poor thing, he’s just a boy.” 

“That one has little chance of surviving,” Legolas told her bluntly. “You know this. Even treated. Look at him, Tauriel. The spiders will consume him.”

Tauriel’s eyes snapped to his, glittering. “You have grown heartless. We can treat him. He does not need to die.” 

“And what would one dwarvish life matter?” Legolas asked. The callous words were not his own, but his father’s, and beneath them, Tauriel could sense his concern coupled with what little compassion that he still possessed after these many long, trying years. 

“Why are you _talking?_ What are you saying? What is there to say?” Kili cried. “Help him, please! Help my brother if you can!” 

The she-elf raised her eyes to lock again with Legolas’. “Come,” she beckoned them both, in the common tongue. “We will do all that we can for him.” 

She rushed up the bridge towards the gatehouse and the guards opened the doors to allow her passage. Kili ran to keep up pace. But as he reached the gate, the guards swept their spears across the threshold, barring his passage. He felt a fist close upon his shoulder and he spun at the unwelcome touch. “Get your hands off me!” Kili cried, jerking out of Legolas’ grasp. 

“Let him pass,” Tauriel ordered the guards. “We have no time to delay.” 

“Father won’t allow it, Tauriel,” Legolas said as he unsheathed his daggers and menaced them at Kili. 

“It’s the right thing to do, Legolas,” Tauriel implored. “We will alleviate his suffering.” 

“Then do what you must,” Legolas said, dismissively. “But they are prisoners here. This one goes to the cells.” 

Kili did not take kindly to the sharpness of the blond elf’s words, and though he knew nothing of the language, he thought he could understand their meaning. He despaired as the guards gripped him and began to push him down the hall, away from Fili, but these elves would never liken to his begging. “He was hurt, badly. Even before we came upon the spiders,” he tried hastily to explain. “You see, Azog--” 

“Orcs?!” Legolas’ face was incredulous. “No doubt they’re leading them directly here as well.” He quickly glanced over his shoulder as he roughly shoved Kili towards the open door. “Get him to a cell,” he commanded one of the guards. “I must speak with my father.” 

“And what of the others?” Tauriel’s lieutenant asked. When Legolas turned to him, waiting, he added, “There were other dwarves as well, eleven more.” 

“My guards have brought them in,” Legolas said. "We were just about to go back out, after you." 

"I'm glad you chose not to." When Fili stirred in Tauriel's arms, she gave a soft, concerned gasp and glanced down at him, horror writ upon her features. Without another word, she raced into the dark forest kingdom, disappearing from Kili’s view. 

“Fili, no!” Kili cried out as the guards led him away in another direction, jostling him carelessly and sending pain shooting through his body with every hasty step. “Help him!” he called after Tauriel, as he was yanked around a corner and out of sight. “You promised!” 

Legolas quickly turned back to the remaining guards and spoke in a low whisper as he glanced warily around the trees. All looked peaceful for now, but the words about orcs chilled his blood in his veins. “Seal the gate, and guard it well.” 

“It shall be done,” the guard said. 

Legolas barely heard his response as he stalked back into his father’s kingdom, his thoughts a flurry of questions and newfound worries and even a small sense of pity for the two dwarves he had just seen. They were wretched creatures, dwarves, but whatever these two had seen, it was etched in the wild-eyed terror of the beardless one and in the disfigurement of the unconscious one. Whatever they had lived through, not even dwarves deserved that sort of torment. 

But as he made his way towards his father’s throne chamber, he began to wonder if, with thirteen dwarves in their cells and the threat of orcs on their borders, their troubles might only just be beginning. 

\- - - - - 

Fili’s insides were on fire. They thrashed and churned as his fever raged. There was not a single part of him that did not hurt, and never in his life had he felt so violently ill. Around him voices droned on, speeding up and slowing down, but never once making any sense. At last he felt a solid surface beneath him and he groaned in relief. 

“Erumiel, come quickly!” Tauriel cried. At her cry, the healer glanced up from bandaging the foot of a young elvish warrior, hastily gave the girl instructions for healing her injury, and quickly rushed to the captain’s side. 

She gasped as she came towards the pair, eyes widening as they fell upon the dwarf that Tauriel had all but dropped onto one of the infirmary’s many empty beds. His eyes were open, but clouded to a milky blue and wandering, seeing nothing. His body was alarmingly disfigured and blood stained the fabric of his trousers. The torn tunic hung open over his bruised, bandaged chest. “Spiders! Ai, Valar…” She turned to Tauriel. “You intend to treat him.” 

“The alternative is unspeakable,” Tauriel told her, unflinching. “You have seen this condition before?” 

Erumiel furrowed her brow as she looked over the injured dwarf. “Never in a person, only in animals. Deer, mostly. But there is far more damage to him than what spiders could have done. Oh, poor thing…” 

“One of his kind mentioned orcs,” Tauriel told her. She gave Erumiel a dark look. “Azog himself.” 

“Then it is a wonder he is even alive at all.” Erumiel set to work on stripping the dwarf of his clothing, having to swallow down the twinge of horror that bloomed inside her at the sight of his broken body. 

“What herbs, Erumiel?” Tauriel asked, “and in what mixture?” There seemed to be so much wrong with their patient that the task seemed impossible, but now that he was in her care, she could not bring herself to think of abandoning him. She was far too stubborn for that. 

“Athelas and cascara, in equal parts. Tea tree leaves and lavender will kill the eggs inside him. He will pass them in time.” She trailed off as her eyes fell upon the torn, bleeding skin between the dwarf’s thighs. 

“Will valeras keep him sedated?” Tauriel asked. “Through the process, I mean.” She gave a pointed glance to the dwarf’s injuries, and Erumiel nodded. 

“It is absolutely necessary. Whoever treated these wounds did well, but he should not have traveled. Whatever is he doing here? The Greenwood is not kind to travelers, and is no place for those who are ailing.” Erumiel leaned in and placed her ear over the dwarf’s mouth, listening to the sticky, haggard sound of his breath. “I don’t like the sound of his breathing, either. Even if we can expel the brood within him, he may not survive.” 

“What happened to him?” Tauriel asked, collecting the herbs and in a dish as Erumiel began to work up a watery paste of tree sap. 

“You know, sister.” A deep and ominous sadness colored Erumiel’s voice. 

Tauriel’s eyes fell closed. She knew, by the Valar, she had known from the moment she had swept the dwarf’s limp body into her arms. But she had not wished to admit it to herself, for it was unspeakable, the things that some creatures did to one another. 

“Does he have a name?” 

“His companion--his brother--said it. Fili, I think.” 

With a name, the condition of this dwarf--just a child by their kind, and even more so by the reckoning of the elves--seemed worse, and the thought of his possible death all the more painful to bear. She wondered, had his brother borne witness to Fili’s torment? Had he too suffered at Azog’s hands? Had the entire company? How would they fare in Thranduil’s dungeon with such injuries? 

“I must speak with the king,” she said, turning away, for she could no longer bear to see the mark of violence upon the young dwarf’s body. 

“Very well,” Erumiel said, wholly engrossed now in her task of healing. “When will you return?” 

“An hour at most.” 

“The eggs should be dead by then. But do not expect him to be awake.” 

“And then what will happen?” Tauriel asked, dreading the answer. 

“I will treat him as long as I can.” Erumiel looked up towards the sky above, just visible through the sweeping canopy of trees. “If he makes it through the night, he will probably survive.” 

Tauriel nodded. “I shall inform the king of his condition, and his prognosis,” she told her friend. 

“Do you think he will even care?” Erumiel’s words were laced with bitterness. 

“That I cannot guarantee,” Tauriel spared Fili one last look, “but he must know of the spiders, and of the orcs.” Then without another word or so much as a backward glance, she turned on her heels and departed. 

\- - - - - 

“Fili,” a melodious, feminine voice penetrated his consciousness. “Can you open your eyes for me, Fili?” 

A cool hand lay over his fevered brow. His first thought was that is was his mother, come to save him. Despite the fact that he ached all over, was burning with fever and he felt as if he might at any moment vomit, shit himself--or both--he cracked open his eyes. The light was blinding and he winced, tears leaking. 

“There now,” the voice continued. “There you are, child. You’re sick and I have some medicine for you. Can you drink for me? Everything will be all right if you drink this medicine for me.” 

“M-mother?” the word croaked from his parched throat, barely a whisper. 

“No, Fili. I’m not your mother,” a hand slipped its way beneath the sweat soaked nape of his neck. “I am a healer. Do you remember what happened to you? The spiders?” 

The reminder shocked Fili from delerium, and he whimpered. “N-no!” 

“They’ve lain eggs inside of you, and you must kill them immediately,” Erumiel told him, “or you’ll die. Do you understand? Will you drink this medicine to kill the spiders, Fili?” 

Fili tried to raise a hand, whether to beg for help or to protest he could not say. The trembling of his white fingers spread through him until his entire body shook. “Help me,” he begged her. “I will drink.” 

Erumiel raised a small bowl of thick, sweet smelling liquid to Fili’s lips and tilted just the smallest amount into his mouth. Immediately, he felt the urge to vomit and could not swallow. His stomach was already painfully full. 

“I know putting anything in your stomach is the last thing you want to do right now,” Erumiel told him, “but if you do not swallow all of this, you will be lost to us. The spiders will hatch inside you, and then you will die.” 

Fili’s throat convulsed and he swallowed, hands fisted in his efforts to keep his gorge from rising. “M-more,” he insisted, sobbing, and slowly took a few more sips of the liquid she offered. It began to burn his stomach further when it hit and he cried out. 

“Nearly there, Fili,” Erumiel encouraged him. “It’s nearly gone. When you finish, you can rest.” 

Wearily, he nodded, throat constricting around the potion meant to expel the eggs. When the last vile drop had been swallowed, she lowered his head down to the pillow. 

“You’re very brave,” she told him. “This is good. Soon the eggs will come out. Rest, for you will need your strength, child of stone.” 

Exhausted and terrified, Fili closed his eyes. The contents of his stomach roiled and churned and the room tilted on its axis. He sobbed, turning his head into the pillow. “Kili… Kili help me…” 

\- - - - - 

At the sound of Kili’s voice, Ori’s head shot up and he rushed to the barred door of his cell. “Kili!” he cried out, rattling the offending metal as he looked about for his friend. Kili was pushed past him by two guards and into a nearby cell, which closed with a metallic thunk. 

“Where is Fili?” Thorin demanded from another cell. His eyes chased after the departing elves and he cursed loudly as they disappeared from view. He turned back to Kili, who had slumped against the wall of his cell, legs giving way beneath him as he slid to the cold stone floor and buried his head between his knees. 

“Kili!” Ori cried, hand outstretched beyond his bars and trying in vain to reach his friend. “Please, tell me you’re all right!” 

“Leave him be,” Thorin snapped at Ori, who fell silent. “Kili, where is your brother?” 

“I don’t know,” Kili moaned, voice muffled by his knees and the fabric of his trousers. “The elves took him.” 

“Did they hurt you lads?” Balin wanted to know. 

“I’m fine,” Kili insisted, but the lie was clear in his voice. “Oh, Fili…” 

“The spiders?” Bombur provided. “He was bitten?” 

“Elves killed them,” Kili said. “The spiders… they…” he trailed off, unwilling or unable to say what he had seen, even though the memory of finding Fili at the mercy of the spiders was seared forever into his mind. That, along with everything else too painful and too personal to share, was his burden and his alone. “The spiders hurt him.” 

“Does he live?” Thorin asked him, softening his voice. 

Kili gave a weak nod. “I think so.” 

Thorin heaved a sigh of relief and whispered his thanks to Durin. “The elves will pay for this. Mark my words.” 

“Just like Azog would pay?” Kili yelled, eyes snapping up and fixing dangerously on his uncle. “You swore that he would suffer, and he’s still out there!” 

“Azog will die for what he’s done,” Thorin assured him in a low, vengeful growl. 

“You don’t even _know_ what he did to us!” Kili’s words were venom and his yell echoed through the stone caverns of the dungeon. 

An awkward silence settled among the company as they awaited Thorin’s reply, or Kili’s explanation. Oin and Balin exchanged a meaningful glance. 

“I know enough,” Thorin said gruffly. “Daring to lay a hand on either of you was a mistake he and his pitiful excuse for a son will live to regret.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Kili said flatly. He dropped his head back to his knees and began to weep, so quietly that none could hear his despair. 

Thorin called his name again, but when Kili did not look up, a sense of abject helplessness settled into him like a weight. He wanted to do something, anything. By Mahal, he wanted to gut the orcs who had hurt his kin and string Thranduil up for taking his heir and slaughter every enemy who had ever so much as laid a hand on one of his people. But here, in his enemy’s prison, there was nothing he could do. He could only speak empty reassurances, but when his words fell upon his nephew’s deaf ears, he lost that, too, until all that he could do was sit in the dark and echoing quiet of his cell, resenting himself for his failures.


	14. Leverage

Tauriel made her way in haste away from the infirmary and towards Thranduil's council hall, mind racing in time with her hurried footfalls. She passed by the prison on her way, taking just the briefest moment to check that the dwarves had been safely locked behind bars. It was more for their safety, she told herself. The spiders and other darker creatures threatened the borders of the kingdom, and every day that passed saw the security of the forest slip slowly through her fingers. And as much as a part of her hated the idea of taking the dwarves captive, it was the only decision that could have been made. Satisfied enough with seeing the dwarves safely in their cells, she turned her attention back to her king, and hurried on. 

As she moved, a worrisome thought chased after her like a dark and ominous shadow. Most of the dwarves had been armed, and none had been forthcoming about their business in the Greenwood. Whoever they were, their mission was unfriendly, and bode darker times than what she had already seen. Her sense of warning was worsened by the horrific injuries inflicted upon the young dwarf in the infirmary, and the near-madness of his brother. The entire affair had deeply unsettled her, and now her mind was racing with anxiety and questions. 

None of her fears had diminished by the time she reached Thranduil's council chamber. She stayed pacing as she entered the hall and made herself known to her king, who looked up at her with a look of mere indifference. 

"Ah, Tauriel," Thranduil said, sounding aloof. "What have you to report?" 

“We apprehended a dozen dwarves traveling through the woods. One had been,” she swallowed, choosing her words with care, “he’d been filled with eggs by the spider queen. I dispatched her. I took him to the infirmary for treatment. Erumiel feels she can kill the brood, but his health was quite poor, even prior to it. There is talk the party had been set upon by orcs, and might have led them here.” 

Thranduil's eyes snapped up. The faintest hint of alarm was visible beneath his veneer of apathy, but soon was replaced by his usual cool, unaffected confidence. "I know,” he said. “Legolas has informed me that the gates have been sealed. Orcs will never penetrate our borders." He turned away and strode toward a viewing pool in the floor and let his eyes drift lazily toward the gently flowing waters. "Dwarves, though. Now, that is interesting. You've put them in cells, I presume." 

“All but the one in the infirmary. He’s too weak to be of any trouble. He was barely conscious when I left him. There is one more thing. Their leader was wearing a signet ring. It was, if I am not mistaken, a ring of the line of Durin.” 

"Was he?" When Thranduil looked up, a small smile had twisted itself onto his features. "So the long-suffering, displaced prince of Erebor has come to reclaim his rightful seat. We could use this, Tauriel! Bring him to me for an audience. I will see him in the throne hall." 

“The injured dwarf, in the infirmary,” Tauriel raised her eyebrows, “he too wears a royal crest on the clasp in his hair. And he has a brother in the cells. Perhaps they are the sons of the king.” 

"Well, well!" Thranduil laughed softly, sounding delighted. "Thorin Oakenshield must be beside himself with worry. Tell me, this injured one in the infirmary--how badly is he harmed? You mentioned spiders. Had it been any dwarf but one of Oakenshield's kin, I would have told you to simply dispatch him and burn the body. But if he is Thorin's son... you see, we have the advantage. And what an advantage! The things that Thorin would agree to in order to save his brat's life!" He gave a blissful laugh, and when Tauriel did not meet his delight with so much as a smile, he shook his head at her and said, "Oh, Captain. You are taking this far too seriously." 

“He is at death’s door, my king,” Tauriel wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “It’s clear from his injuries that he’d been badly tortured--raped--by his orc captors. His brother mentioned that it might have been Azog himself who did the deed. I do not--I cannot--take his condition lightly. He’s been savagely brutalized, and his weakened condition left him easy prey for the spider queen.” 

"Then see to it that Erumiel heals him well enough that he will not simply die on us before he can be of some use." Thranduil was silent for a long moment and he went still as an ancient tree, in thought, before he slowly turned and began to stalk toward Tauriel. As he neared, she could see the faint, understated glimmer of cruelty lurking in the blue, timeless pools of his eyes. "What did it look like?" 

"My king?" Tauriel held his gaze and her frown deepened. 

"The dwarf's injuries," Thranduil clarified. "How does it look, seeing one of those obstinate little creatures so spoilt and broken by the world that exists beyond the cold comfort of a mountain hall? I must admit to my curiosity." 

Tauriel had come to accept Thranduil's odd proclivities after years in his service, but they never stopped disturbing her own sensibilities. "He is... torn, my king." She dropped her eyes to the floor. "Torn and bleeding in a place and manner that tells of his repeated humiliation. He bears wounds in his shoulder and in his chest--that one appears to have punctured a lung--the very size and shape of Azog's claw. And as for the spider," she shuddered, "his stomach was distended from the eggs deposited there. Outside the horrors of war, I have not seen such suffering. I pray to the Valar that Erumiel will improve his condition before I see him again, as it pained me to look upon it. And his brother was despondent with worry." 

"I will see him," Thranduil said with eagerness. Then he added quickly, as if trying to hide his budding interest, "Just to ensure he'll be suitable leverage in dealing with Thorin, of course." 

“As you wish, my king.” Tauriel turned on her heels, and led Thranduil to the infirmary. “I’d prefer to wait out here,” she told him when they arrived at the door. 

From inside came Erumiel’s voice, soothing, “It’s going to be all right. Just stay the course.” 

When Thranduil entered, it was to a gruesome sight. A dwarf lay on his side, facing him, a sheet pulled up to his waist. Erumiel sat behind him on the bed, one hand over his swollen stomach. It was clear that whatever medicine she had given him had taken effect, for he was vomiting into a copper tureen she’d placed before him. His face was ashen and he appeared quite ill and barely conscious. 

The contents of the tureen were unspeakable. 

“No more,” the dwarf whimpered, laying back on the sweat soaked sheets.”Please, no more.” He closed his eyes and twin tears escaped them. He was trembling, the skin of his exposed chest a road map of scratches and puncture wounds. 

Erumiel’s eyes met her king questioningly, and she judiciously threw a towel over the tureen to hide its contents as she rose to empty it. 

“That’s the third time,” she told the king. “He’s not done.” She hurried to the other room to dispose of the vile contents. 

"Fascinating," Thranduil whispered, unable to tear his eyes off the horrifying sight. He was familiar enough with war and battle to not be shaken by the brutality, but it nonetheless piqued his interest to see just how far a living creature could be pushed before giving up the tenuous grasp on life and succumbing to its wounds. And though Thranduil was not so monstrous as to inflict such torture on a living thing simply to watch it writhe, he also held no illusions that he was above finding a compelling, despicable enjoyment in seeing sights such as this. 

The poor creature in the bed had endured enough to have killed him thrice over, and yet here he still was, alive and still fighting to stay alive, even as his wounds and the foulness inside his body threatened to destroy him. It was remarkable, how hardy dwarves were, and even Thranduil had to admit to being somewhat impressed by the tenacity with which they clung to life. 

Something must have alerted the youth to Thranduil’s presence, for he extended a trembling, cold hand towards the elvish king. “M-my family… my friends,” The boy’s voice was hoarse from his recent round of vomiting, and his blue eyes stubbornly struggling to stay open. “Are they alive? Can you help us?” 

Thranduil quickly pulled his hand away, and his lip curled upwards in disgust at the thin sheen of saliva that the touch had left on the back of his fingers. He wiped himself clean on the sheet and said, "You and your kin are safe here. I will not harm you, but I will not release you until your leader has accepted my terms. Tell me, what is your name?" 

Fili realized he was being spoken to by someone of far more consequence than the she-elf who had brought him here. The voice had an iciness to it that filled him with unease, and he shook his head, slowly, fighting back a wave a dizziness. “I’m but a traveler, passing through these woods with my friends.” With a groan, he put his hand weakly over his abdomen, as if willing it to quiet. 

"Stubborn and secretive unto the end, your kind," Thranduil said with a soft laugh. "Then rest assured, _traveler_ , that I will find out your business here in the Greenwood even if you do not wish to divulge your secrets just yet. Perhaps... your brother would be more forthcoming." 

Fili cried out in pain and clutched his abdomen, eyes shut tight as he writhed. Erumiel arrived just in time with the newly-cleaned tureen and slid it expertly into the bed next to Fili as he weakly pulled himself up on one elbow. It was clear the position itself was painful for him--probably due to other injuries--but everything else came second to expelling the contents of his tortured stomach. 

Fili could not bear to look at what came out of him, for it only added to his nausea and distress. When it was over, he said in a stubborn whisper, “You leave my brother alone!” Then, as if sapped of all energy, he fell back weakly, eyes closing with more finality than before. 

“It’s best you leave him to me, my king,” Erumiel wiped at Fili’s mouth and forehead with a wet cloth. “He’s talking out of his head.” 

"Fine. When he is healed enough, see that he is transferred to a cell." As Thranduil turned to leave, he gave the dwarf one last, backward glance over his shoulder, hardly expecting him to survive even with Erumiel's expert care. That did not bother him, for the life of one dwarf was insignificant when compared to his own immortality, and whether in a hundred years or a thousand, he would see that which had been stolen from his people returned to him, and he did not need the help of one little dwarvish prince. He turned, and walked away. 

In his throne chamber, he found Tauriel, awaiting his arrival. He gave his command and she disappeared, trailed by two guards, and returned some time later with the struggling king of the dwarves in chains. When Thorin was forced to stand at the foot of the dais, he growled at his captors before turning a defiant glare on Thranduil, who coolly looked down on him from his seat upon his throne. 

"To see you again does me well, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and heir to the kingdom of Erebor. Where does your journey end? A quest to reclaim a homeland, and slay a dragon!" He said it with a flourish as if to emphasize the impossibility of such a daunting undertaking. "I suspect something more prosaic. Attempted burglary, or something of that kind. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the Arkenstone." 

“My party numbers but thirteen,” Thorin informed him of the obvious. “Do you think I’d be so mad as to suppose we could reclaim Erebor with so scant a number? We are merely traveling, seeking out others of our kind. We demand to be set free.” 

"Do not take me for a fool," Thranduil snapped. "You should be honest with me. Perhaps I could help you. You see, there is something that I desire in those mountain halls. I have ways of forcing your hand, if need be." 

“I would have given you anything you wanted, Thranduil, had you not turned away when my people needed you most,” Thorin told him, eyes chips of ice. “Now, I can offer you nothing, for it’s under the control of a dragon. You no longer have leverage over me.” 

"You speak with such certainty, and yet you know nothing. But that much is to be expected from dwarves." Thranduil gave Thorin a frigid smile. "All right. I will play your little game. Suppose that you are, as you say, simply searching for more of your kind. Why would you be here instead of merely sending emissaries to make the long journey from the Blue Mountains to my land? And why bring your nearest of kin--your sons, perhaps?-- if not to engage in something more glorious than merely finding a handful of dwarvish refugees? There is honor but no glory in the mission you describe, but far more in reuniting the line of Durin under the light of the Arkenstone." 

“I have no children,” Thorin told him quickly, “for what sort of life would I be bringing them into?” He gave the chains at his wrist an experimental rattle. “And as for honor, what do you know of it--you who cage up your former allies like fattening calves, after having deserted them in their darkest hour?” 

"Do not speak to me of honor!" Thranduil leapt to his feet and cast his cloak aside and stalked down the steps of his throne, leering at Thorin as he approached. "I did what was honorable by _my_ people by protecting them from danger. Unlike you, who fails to see the damage done to your companions on a desperate quest that will ultimately prove fruitless. Why, to force an injured, dying child to march through the dangers of these woods..." When Thorin hid a small gasp, Thranduil raised his eyebrows in a mockery of surprise. "Oh, so he _does_ mean something to you! The dwarf boy in my infirmary, I mean." 

"All of my comrades are of consequence to me!" Thorin glared at Thranduil. "How does he fare?" 

"He may not make it through the night. I thought that you would know that, given his wounds. What Azog did to him." 

The blow should have knocked Thorin to his knees, but that could not be allowed. "I don't understand it," he said instead. "He--he was recovering from the flesh wounds. Is it fluid, in his lungs? He had been coughing." 

Thranduil turned a slow circle around Thorin, unable to keep the faint and sinister smile from creeping onto his lips. "You should have known better than to take him into these woods. The sickness in his lungs, the rape, the spiders' eggs inside him..." He spun and pulled his face in close to Thorin's, eyes glittering with malice. "But you knew nothing of those things, did you? How little he must trust you if he did not even tell you what was done to him. How he was violated." 

"Do not lie to me, _elf,_ for I will gut you!" Thorin cried, shooting forward, only to be held back by the towering elvish guards. He then realized exactly what Thranduil had said. "I... he..." Thorin floundered. It couldn't be true. His own kin, raped by the vilest of orcs himself? He forced down his rising fury and straightened his spine, resolute. "I wish to see him. You will take me to him." 

"So I do indeed still have leverage over you." Thranduil returned to his antlered throne and took up his seat, nonchalantly crossing his booted feet in front of himself and stretching his arm out lazily over the armrest. "If you agree to help me reclaim what is mine, I will let you see him before he dies. I will even save his life if you swear your allegiance to me. Kneel before me and swear your fealty, and we will do everything to heal your young companion." 

Fili. His first-born sister-son. Thorin could simply not bear the thought of losing him. Fili would be the salvation of the dwarven race--even tempered where Thorin was quick to act, benevolent and forgiving where Thorin would be damning. 

"I will help you, Thranduil," Thorin told him, but he did not bow. "Whatever treasure lies inside of Erebor--its value pales in comparison to the worth of my nephew's life. Save him, and you can take away barrels of gold.Wagons full. But I beg of you, heal him. Make him whole." 

"It is not gold I want." Thranduil had to suppress his delight at the look of desperate horror growing on Thorin's face. "There are gems in that mountain--white gems. You know of which I speak." 

"I remember. If those gems still exist after the ravages of Smaug, they are yours," Thorin assured him. "Will you let me see him?" 

Thranduil curled his fingers and examined his nails, taking his time while he considered the offer before waving his hand, agreeing to the easiest of the terms. "Very well. Tauriel, take him to the infirmary and promptly return him to his cell once he has seen the boy." 

Thorin's first instinct was to threaten Thranduil with bodily harm should anything happen to Fili, but Elvish medicine was known far and wide for its efficacy. And Fili was, for Thranduil's testimony, in dire shape. Thorin would see for himself soon enough, he reassured himself, as the red-haired captain of the guard led him down several flights of steep stairs. 

"He was very ill when I left him," Tauriel told the concerned dwarf at her side. "But I can assure you, he is receiving the finest treatment." 

She guided Thorin into the infirmary, where only three of the beds were occupied at the moment--two by bandaged elves and the third by his nephew. Fili appeared childlike on the oversized bed. 

Erumiel's eyes met Thorin's and she saw the worry there. "He is resting," she told him, wiping perspiration away from Fili’s forehead with a cool cloth. "The brood is expelled. He did amazingly well. He’s fighting off infection with a high fever, and his lungs are wet with fluid. I’ve given him medication. We can only wait and see if his body will survive the rest of his ailments." 

Each of the elf's words hit Thorin like a blow. He swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat and approached his nephew's bedside, where he gingerly placed his hand upon Fili's icy fingers. His eyes darted up to the healer. "Tell me it's not true, what your king said was done to him." 

“He has suffered greatly,” Erumiel told Thorin. “More than anyone should. He was taken against his will--with great force, I’m afraid. There is tearing. His lung was punctured as well. It seems to have been doctored with some proficiency, but pneumonia is not an uncommon side effect. He should not have been traveling. I am guessing he did not discuss the severity of his injuries with you.” She looked Thorin in the eyes. “It isn’t surprising.” 

"Why would he not tell me?" A sudden tightness pulled at the inside of his chest as he thought of the pain he had inadvertently put his nephews through. "I could have helped him!" 

“Shame,” she offered up quickly. “He didn’t want to appear weak to you. Such things--they are best left in the past. If the pneumonia doesn’t take him, I can heal his physical injuries. But in order to heal his mind and his heart, he will need you to treat him as you always do.” 

Thorin did not know if he could do that. Not now, not anymore. "I was too hard on him," he said as he let his eyes fall closed. 

_If not for me,_ he thought, _he would have never learned shame. He would have never learned to hide his suffering like this._

"He needs gentleness now," Thorin whispered. "I do not know if I have gentleness in me to give." 

“If not for you, he would not have been strong enough to survive even a portion of what’s been wrought upon him,” Erumiel quickly came to Thorin’s defense. “He is a fighter, thanks to you. Tauriel!” she called out to the captain of the guards. “Can you remove his shackles?” 

Tauriel hurried to unlock the shackles, which fell from Thorin's wrists to the floor with a clatter. With his hands free, Thorin grasped hold of Fili's hand and pressed a sorrowful kiss to the cold skin. When Fili stirred at the touch and pulled away in his unconsciousness, Thorin felt tears stinging unshed in his eyes. 

"Please let me stay with him," he pleaded the captain. 

A sad expression etched its way into Tauriel's gentle features. "I cannot," she said in apology. "I must return you to your cell." She leaned in to whisper in his ear, only loud enough for him to hear. "It pains me to separate you, but I can bring you back tonight, after my king is resting." 

"And why should I trust you?" Thorin demanded. "It was _your_ company that captured us." 

"Had she not," Erumiel said coolly, "this boy would have died. At least now, he has a chance." 

Thorin’s blue eyes found Erumiel’s. “I beg of you, save him. I know there is no love lost between our people, but he is my hope for the future--the hope of my kind. He is my light, when the world is dark. Do you understand?” he leaned over Fili and smoothed messy strands of hair away from Fili’s face. “He’s very fastidious about his hair. He would not want to look this way,” Thorin said with sorrow, leaning over to lay his forehead against Fili’s. “He will be king someday,” he told the two of them. 

Tauriel and Erumiel exchanged a dark look. 

"Do not tell me that he is your heir," Tauriel said quickly, "or I will need to tell my king. He will use the boy's life against you." 

"But rest assured," Erumiel said, "that prince or no, so long as he is my care, I will do all that I can to save him." 

“Your _king_ has already threatened Fili’s life in order to bend me to his will. He’s imprisoned my mentors, my cousins, my friends in his dungeon! Thranduil is well aware that Fili is beloved by me. I will concede to his wishes. We want only to travel safely on. He will have his treasure,” Thorin assured Tauriel before turning to Erumiel. “I thank you for your diligence. I will be forever in your debt.” He could not bear to leave Fili’s side, but it was clear Tauriel was growing impatient. He leaned over and whispered something in the prince’s ear in Khuzdul, cradling his cheek. And finally, with regret, he returned to his full height. “I am ready now.” 

Tauriel nodded briefly and placed a firm hand upon Thorin's elbow. He made to jerk away, but one look from Tauriel's eyes told him that if he struggled, he would be back in manacles. He went with her without resistance. 

Upon reaching the door, he looked back over his shoulder at his nephew, asleep in the bed. Fili looked small and helpless like that, and the image touched Thorin's world-weary heart just enough to break it. 

On the trudge back to his cell, Thorin kept his eyes fixed on the distance, but with his mind on Fili, he paid little attention to his surroundings. It stung, knowing how much Fili had hidden from him, and the rage at what had been done to his nephew burned with a deep malevolence inside him. _And Kili,_ he thought, pain deepening that much more. What if both his nephews had suffered such brutality? What was he, Thorin Oakenshield, to do knowing that one, or possibly both of his nephews, whom he loved as his own children, had suffered so deeply? 

He needed to know the truth. So as the elf captain pushed him back into his cell and locked the door, he spun back and gripped the bars and called across the hall into Kili's cell. 

“I’ve come from seeing Fili,” he told him. “He’s resting comfortably. The brood is gone.” There was more Thorin would have liked to say to Kili, more he wanted to _ask,_ but he wouldn’t do so in front of the others. “Do you need medical attention, nephew?” he asked instead. 

"No," Kili said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm fine. Is Fili..." When he raised his head, Thorin could see that his eyes and nose were reddened from crying. "Will Fili be all right?" 

“He is getting fine care,” Thorin told him. “And they were able to rid him of the eggs. They saved his life. But he’s still got a high fever and his breath was whistling. The physician said if he survives the night, he should be in the clear. She seemed optimistic. But anything can happen. You know this.” 

Kili gave a soft whimper and dropped his head back to his knees. Like that, he looked so small and vulnerable. "I'm so sorry, uncle," he said, voice heavy with grief. 

“We must hope for the best, Kili.” Thorin lay his head against the cool metal bars. “Your sense of urgency spurred them into action today. Fili is alive because of you. He would be so proud of you.” 

"Proud?" This time, when Kili looked up, he was furious. "How could anyone be proud of us after... after..." he trailed off and dropped his eyes to the floor. 

“You saved him from certain death--twice. I cannot tell you how proud that makes me. Not that I ever doubted your devotion to your brother, or your bravery.” 

_I am not brave,_ Kili thought. But he did not give voice to those words. Instead, he said, "I did what I thought was right. He was so badly hurt. I wish I could have helped him, maybe stopped what... had happened. Maybe it's my fault." 

“It wasn’t,” Thorin immediately assured him. “It was I who brought you on this quest. I alone can bear responsibility for your fate; for the fate of all the dwarves in our company. Please, I beg of you, don’t spend another moment blaming yourself.” 

"How can you say that?" Kili's voice was filled with anger. "You don't understand, you weren't even there! You don't know what happened to us!" 

Thorin swallowed audibly. His throat was parched, and he’d have crawled over blades for some water--killed for an ale. “I know. The physician told the Elvenking, and he was more than pleased to share what had happened to you with me. But this is not something we should speak of here,” he cautioned. 

"You" -- Kili's jaw snapped shut. He stammered, unable to find words to describe the wave of dread and despair that passed through him. The memory rushed back to him, unbidden, only now he realized just how much Thorin knew. How ashamed he must have been, despite his reassuring words. Lies, all of them. He did not know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I want to go home." 

“How I wish I could unlock your cell and take you there.” Thorin’s voice was full of despair. “I promised your mother safe return of her sons. But Thranduil will free us. I have struck a bargain with him.” 

"He offered you a deal?" Balin rushed to the bars of his cage, eyes wide. He glanced across the hall at Kili, and a look of regret that he had been eavesdropping passed briefly across his face before he turned his whole attention to Thorin. "What did you promise him?" 

“There are gems of silver and white, somewhere in our mountain,” Thorin told them, looking away guiltily. “Thranduil has wanted them for many a year. There is rumor that they hold history, memories. Others say he simply covets them for their beauty. Regardless, I have promised him those very gems in exchange for our freedom.” 

His eyes met Dwalin’s. “But I would have given him whatever he wanted, in order to save Fili’s life.” 

"Promises or no," Dwalin said from the cell he shared with his brother, "we both know better than to trust that particular elf." 

“Aye,” Thorin nodded curtly in agreement, “but Fili lives.” He lapsed into silence, the unspoken _for now_ an unheard coda. 

From his cell, Kili listened in silence to the older dwarves and dropped his eyes to a chip in the stone tile beneath his feet. He stared at the cracked, broken thing, and sniffled softly as the tears welled up in his eyes again. How much he had cried for Fili, and for himself. Now he wept because they didn't understand. Thorin knew, by Mahal, he knew. But he didn't understand what it was like, to still feel the violating hands even after the torment was finished, nor to sit in helpless silence, not knowing if he would ever see Fili again. The thought of that--this life as it was now, spent without Fili--was more than Kili could bear. 

Despairing, he slid to the floor and cradled his sore and aching and hungry body in his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest, finding solace in the only place he could--in physical pain. When he began to weep, he did not hide his tears. The others could hear, he knew, but he no longer cared. He let himself weep as the pain coursed through him, and eventually, he wept himself to a dark and dreamless sleep.


	15. Betrayal

In the four days since the dwarves had been taken prisoner, the youngest of their company had not eaten a bite of the food he’d been given. Tauriel noticed after the second day, but what was she to say about it? From his sullenness and the way he hid himself in the shadows of his cell, she knew that he had been traumatized--if only to watch as his brother was defiled by Azog and again by Kashob. But the refusal to eat... surely there had to be more to his suffering to make him stop eating entirely.

She had watched him in silence for the past few days, watching as his cheekbones slowly began to hollow out and his energy levels waned until he seemed to do little but sit in his corner, shielding himself from view. It troubled her. But she thought she had the perfect solution. Perhaps now that Fili had awakened, she could bring the young dwarf in the night to the infirmary to see his brother. It would brighten his mood, she imagined. But more importantly, getting him to Erumiel for care might be just what was needed to find out why he was refusing his meals. 

When he heard her approaching with a tell-tale jingling of keys, Kili raised his head from where it rested on his knees. “Fili?” was the first word from his mouth. His voice was hoarse from disuse. 

“I thought perhaps you might want to see him,” Tauriel said matter-of-factly, avoiding Kili’s eyes as she unlocked his cell. “We should make haste, I was ordered not to release you. But in this case… well, it is for the best.” 

Kili got to his feet, stretching his aching limbs as he stood. A sharp spasm of pain rippled up from somewhere below his navel, and he pressed a fist to his belly to suppress it. When the pain had passed, he turned back to Tauriel, who watched him with concern. He brushed off her worry and coughed to clear his throat and asked, “Is he all right?” 

She nodded crisply. “He awoke some time ago and he’s been asking for you. Only tonight was I able to bring you to him. Come with me.” 

Kili nodded weakly and stepped out of his cell after the elf. His steps were vaguely dizzying, and the halls around him seemed to spin as they set off together towards the infirmary. 

Tauriel reached for him and clasped his upper arm in her hand, not to strong-arm him, but to steady him. “While you’re in the infirmary, you too shall be treated.” 

“Treated for what?” Kili asked, suspiciously looking up at her as he pulled his arm free from her grasp. “I am not injured,” he lied. 

“Your gait is unsteady, dwarf, and your eyes glitter with what I can only assume is fever,” she observed. “In order to see your brother, you will submit to a bath and an exam. The bath,” she sniffed the air, “is for the benefit of us all.” 

Her words hit him harder than they should have, and he dropped his gaze to the floor in order to hide the tears that suddenly and inexplicably welled up in his eyes. _Don’t be a weakling!_ he berated himself. _Of course you stink, Kili, you foul, ugly thing. You smell of him, of his hands and of his seed and of the filthy parts of your own body._

“I’m sorry,” Tauriel’s tone softened at the look of pain and defeat on Kili’s face. 

Her gentle words cut through his stream of self-insult, and the degrading voice in his mind fell silent. 

“That was rude of me,” Tauriel continued. “You’ve been imprisoned for days. It’s only natural you should want a bath--and some nourishing food not served on a metal dish. I hope you will accept our hospitality and take advantage of the bathhouse adjacent to the infirmary. You may take as long as you need.” 

She opened the large wooden door that led into the infirmary. Fili, currently the only patient left in the room, was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, while Erumiel lingered nearby, checking in on him occasionally as he fed himself a watery herbed broth from a large bowl cupped in his hands. 

Only when Fili finished the bowl and used a silken napkin to blot the broth from his mustache did he notice his brother. “Kili!” he said his brother’s name, overjoyed to see him. 

"Nadad!" Kili cried, rushing to Fili's side. He wanted to pull Fili into a hug, but the way Fili flinched as Kili reached his side made him draw back, afraid to hurt his brother any further. With his hands outstretched but without touching his kin, Kili said softly, "We had feared the worst." 

“I-I’m sorry,” Fili apologized for his reaction. “It’s just been so quiet down here, khazash.” He reached for Kili’s hand. “Come. Sit.” He gestured for Kili to sit beside him on the bed. 

Kili joined his brother on the edge of the bed, quietly grateful for the chance to sit. The long walk into the infirmary on more than a week's empty stomach had left him somewhat dizzy, but he used it as a reminder that with each passing day, he was slowly inching away from what Bolg had forced him to become. Bolstered by that reassurance and by the gentle touch of Fili's hand upon his own, Kili gave a small, weak smile for the first time in what felt to be an age. 

"Have they treated you well?" Kili asked, glancing up to the elvish healer, whose timeless eyes were wells of sympathy and a quiet, barely fettered rage. Her eyes frightened him, and he quickly dropped his gaze and dropped his voice even further. "I wish they would leave." 

“Erumiel’s been very kind to me,” Fili told his brother. “I would surely be dead if not for her healing abilities.” He remembered little of his ordeal after Beorn’s and he hadn’t pressed Erumiel for details. But he remembered having been lost in the woods, his despair. The memories that followed were hazier, but he still could imagine the pressure inside his body, the pain and the fear that he had been so full he might burst or be devoured from within. Where his memories became clear again was when he had awoken in the infirmary, weak as a newborn baby, but miraculously empty. He turned to Kili. “Are you unwell?” he asked his brother. “Are they not feeding you in the cells? You look as though you haven’t eaten for some time.” 

"I..." Kili felt the warmth rising in his cheeks. "No, no," he lied, rapidly shaking his head. "They're feeding us enough." 

Fili recalled how his brother had acted at Beorn’s, hesitant to eat. He was still thinking about what Bolg had done to him. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Fili said, squeezing his brother’s hand. “Neither of them can.” 

“I know that,” Kili said defensively. “I just… I have nightmares. The memories, they frighten me. I’m scared to sleep.” 

“I'm scared too. They nearly killed me. But here I am, still fighting. I need you to fight as well, for I don’t want to live in this world without you--and I cannot bear to see you waste away like a wraith.” 

Kili's eyes snapped to Fili's. "I am still fighting." The words were sharp, but Kili did nothing to take the bite from his voice. "Don't think that I'm not. I may not be as strong as you, but I'm no weakling." 

“I never said you were weak.” Fili winced at the anger in Kili’s voice. “You are the bravest brother I could ask for. Will you eat some soup, here with me? I’ll have some more, too.” 

"No," Kili said at first. But at the look in Fili's eyes, one that expressed confusion and worry and suspicion in equal measure, he added, "You had it worse than I did." 

Fili was quiet, but he watched Kili in concern. Only when Erumiel shifted beside him did he glance up at the elvish healer. “Could we have two bowls, please?” 

"Of course," Erumiel offered in a slow, melodious voice, and before Kili could protest, she had turned and started off toward the other end of the infirmary, her robes flowing like water around her ghostly frame. 

Kili frowned after her, disliking something about her that he could not identify. He hazarded a glance to the other elf, the warrior woman who stood near the door, watching them with an intense but detached stare. He turned back to Fili. "I don't trust them." 

“You can trust _her_ ,” Fili told him, and he nodded towards Tauriel. “And her. You would not have a brother if not for them.” 

Startled and hurt by Fili's chastising, Kili closed his eyes to stem the welling sadness. 

Fili’s eyes searched Kili’s face in silence, and he changed the subject. “How do the others fare? Did we... lose any to the spiders?” 

"No." Kili sniffled softly, and he had to speak carefully to keep his voice from breaking. "The rest are fine. They have been taken to cells. The spiders... they only hurt you.” 

“And… our uncle?” 

“He knows what happened.” Kili’s eyes fell closed and a single tear slipped down his cheek, disappearing beneath his chin. “I'm sorry, brother." 

Kili’s revelation hit Fili like a soft slap devoid of the force required to sting. He did not know if he had it in him to feel anything at the knowledge that Thorin knew the truth despite knowing he should feel horror, or shock, or concern, or even a measure of sadness, but he could feel none of those things right now. He had to be strong for Kili, and resolve was the only thing he would allow himself to feel. “He would have found out eventually,” he finally said. 

“But Fili…” Kili pressed. “What will he do knowing that we… we…” _were raped?_

“He will do as he has always done,” Fili said, a little sharply. “He will see us healed and reared towards our destinies. You’ll see, Kili. It will be all right. I will heal, as good as new. Erumiel says we dwarrows have amazing constitutions. And stout hearts.” 

Tentatively, Kili touched his brother upon the sternum. "I cannot do this without you." 

“Nor I you,” Fili emphasized. 

They sat in silence until Erumiel returned with two bowls of soup. 

“Ah,” Fili said, brightening, “do try this. It will put color in your cheeks.” 

Erumiel bowed slightly and handed one of the bowls over to Kili. “Tis only vegetables in a tomato base,” she told him as Kili hesitantly took the offered bowl. 

The dish was warm in his hands and the steam that wafted up from the soup was fragrant and enticing in his nostrils. He inhaled, finding a strange sense of comfort in the gift of the food, but the urge to take and eat was spoilt by a distinct aversion to putting anything in his empty stomach. He sat there on the edge of the bed and time seemed to slow as he stared into the bowl. His body craved the nutrients, but if he tried it, he knew, the emptiness that he had spent the past several days cultivating would be destroyed, and the sensation of fullness would come rushing back to him like the unwanted and unwelcome touch of a hand upon him. 

"Kili?" Fili's voice startled Kili from his thoughts. 

He realized that in the time he had wasted staring at the soup, it had cooled to the tepid and unappealing temperature of stagnant water on a summer's day. He swallowed, shook his head, and handed the bowl back to Erumiel. "No." 

She accepted the bowl back. “You look unwell, young one,” she told him. “Perhaps it was concern for your brother that made your appetite diminish? As you can see, he is on his way to recovery. You need not fear me.” When Kili remained unaffected, she asked, “Would you prefer some solid food, perhaps? Fruit, or even venison? We do not eat much meat here, but Tauriel could acquire some if you need it.” 

Fili made to halt her words, fearing the effect they might have on Kili’s fragile psyche. “None of that,” he told the healer. “Please, may we have a moment?” 

“Of course.” Erumiel joined Tauriel near the door, and where they began to converse in their strange tongue in little more than lilting whispers. 

“I’m worried about you,” Fili warned his brother. “You are unwell. Your skin is the color of ash. You should spend a few days here with me. Erumiel can find a cure for what’s ailing you.” 

"I'm fine," Kili said, already knowing that Fili didn't believe his lie. He didn’t believe his own lie, either. He wasn’t even close to fine, and in the days since their capture, the dull ache within him had grown steadily worse. _It's merely hunger,_ he tried to convince himself. But deep down, he knew that it was worse than that. Hunger did not cause him to bleed when he passed what little foulness was left in his body. Nor did hunger cause cramps that felt like someone was trying to pull his insides onto the outside. But the physical vacancy, that part was from hunger, and in its painfulness, it was a comfort. It gave him an excuse to think about something other than the rape -- and it _was_ rape, he had finally admitted to himself -- and he found that the gnawing emptiness brought about by self-starvation filled the hollow that had been torn into his heart. 

Seeing the grief play so visibly across Kili’s dark, sad eyes, Fili extended a hand to brush over Kili’s cheek. He gasped when his fingers touched his brother’s sharpened cheekbone. “You’re burning up, Kili! Burning with fever!” 

Kili recoiled from Fili's touch, suddenly and inexplicably filled with terror. "Get your hands off me!" he cried, scrambling back out of the bed, away from the threat. 

"Erumiel!” Fili cried. “You must do something for him!” 

Immediately, four slender and incredibly strong hands closed upon Kili and he began to struggle, howling as the elves pulled him from the bed. "NO!" 

"Lad, we will not hurt you!" Tauriel said forcefully. She was strong, but Kili was a dwarf, and dwarves were stronger than elves, and it wasn't long before he had broken free from her grasp. "Erumiel, stop him!" 

Before Erumiel could catch him, Kili dodged her groping hands and took off at a sprint for the door, fire exploding through his body as he ran. With the exertion, the lightheadedness from the hunger and the agony that pulsed through his pelvis swiftly spiraled into a dizzying mess of pain, and before he could reach the door, the world around him seemed to evaporate for just a moment into blackness. 

When he came to, he was upon his back, with three faces staring down at him. Erumiel and Tauriel knelt at his sides, and Fili watched, horrified, at a distance from his seat in the bed. 

“He’s bleeding,” Erumiel gasped in alarm. “I fear he has some wounds that he has hidden from us. They are the source of his discomfort.” 

When Kili felt the gentle hand upon his thigh, he jerked away involuntarily, but Tauriel held him to the ground. Without much strength left to struggle, he locked eyes with Fili as the elvish healer probed his body, examining the damage. 

Fili’s eyes were full of tears. “Kili,” he whimpered, “it’s going to be all right. Let them care for you, brother. I’m here.” He looked up at Erumiel pleadingly. “He was… defiled. Like me.” The word stung as he said it, and he saw Kili go rigid as he told their hosts the truth. “Please, can you help him?” 

"We can," Tauriel said with a nod. 

"Fili, no!" Kili's cry of protest was more of a shocked whisper, and he suddenly hated Fili for telling the elves what had happened. It was their secret, _Kili's_ secret. And they had no right to know. Narrowing his eyes at Fili, he pulled away from the elves in anger. 

"You can barely stand on your own," Fili said, voice tinged with sadness and frustration. "I cannot allow you to continue to punish yourself for something over which you had no control! You need to heal, and you need to admit to what was done to you--to _us_ \--in order to accomplish that." Exhausted from his outburst and exertion, Fili lay his head back down on the pillow beneath him. "Hate me if you must," he sighed. "I would rather have you alive and hating me than dead in cold stone." 

With nothing left to say, Kili let himself be pulled gently to his feet by the elves. The entire time that Tauriel guided him to a bed, Kili glared at Fili, who suddenly looked so different than he had even a moment ago. What compassion there had been all seemed gone, and now, there was an aloof distance in Fili's eyes despite the tears that still clung to his cheeks. To Kili, the familiar face of his brother now looked like that of a stranger, and only now did it become apparent that in those long, dark hours in the orcs' clutches, something undefinable and intimate between them had been broken, and it might never be repaired. 

As Kili settled down on the bed, defeated, he watched Fili through tear-blurred eyes. Fili looked exhausted, but unyielding in his resolve. Kili wished that he were so strong. But as Fili closed his eyes and soon gave in to his need for rest, Kili found himself filled with resentment. He turned away and faced the wall and closed his eyes, losing himself in his bitterness. He barely heard Erumiel's voice as she approached or felt her hands as she began to tend to his injuries. By now, he was fully caught up in a singularly cruel and devastating thought that bubbled up inside him until it came out of his mouth in an unvoiced, silent whisper, spoken only to the unfeeling wall. 

"We are no longer brothers."


	16. Separation

Kili slept, and for that Fili was grateful. The sad look of betrayal in his brother's eyes had cut him to the quick. Had telling the elves about Kili's injuries been a mistake? Surely not, for Kili could barely stand on his own. Fili had always been rather practical, but he reasoned that talking about what had happened to them and coming to accept it as simply another atrocity of battle that they had survived, would only strengthen them. But that, he feared, would not come to pass. Not so long as Kili despised him. It made his stomach feel like a stone.

He hoped that Kili’s hatred would be short lived, vanishing once his brother began to feel more like his old self. Most importantly, he hoped Kili would eat. Tears formed in Fili's eyes as he recalled Bolg forcing Kili to eat, and eat... the goat ... and the other meat of unknown origin. He could tell by the look in his brother's eyes that it had been nightmarish. He hoped that as Kili slept, he did not relive the torture. 

Fili himself was not so lucky. His body still hurt everywhere, and the memories of the source of his injuries were only made more acute by the lingering ache in his shoulder and chest, his throat, and _down there._ The only thing that deadened the pain were Erumiel’s herbs. But the elvish medicine did not compete with the wonderful concoction Beorn had been giving him. Sadly, the powder had been lost somewhere in the Mirkwood, and Fili was feeling the effects of its absence, especially today. His hands shook when he moved to pick something up, so he kept them hidden under the blankets. His head felt clouded one minute, then flooded with dreadful clarity. He longed, physically and mentally, for the numbness that had come with the powder. He did not understand that in the weeks he'd spent with Beorn, he'd grown dependent upon it. 

Over the course of the long night, the symptoms of withdrawal continued to wrack Fili, and the elves watched in silence, but there was little that they could do to ease his discomfort. 

"Do you know what he was given?" Tauriel asked Erumiel in Sindarin. 

Erumiel shook her head. "Something to numb the pain. But whatever it was, he took it in such quantities that he now suffers from its absence." 

"And the younger?" 

"He shows no sign of addiction." 

"But he will not eat." 

"No," Erumiel sighed. "I have seen this before, this... self-deprivation. Sometimes it happens when a person has been stripped of a sense of control. He was raped, and that is enough to cause this. But I suspect that there is more at work here. Do you sense it?" 

Tauriel was quiet for a long moment, feeling the tension in the air that had arisen with Kili's outburst and still lingered now, many hours later. "I sense it," she affirmed. "They withdraw from each other, though they would recover faster if they drew closer together. They need each other now, but I am not sure they see that." 

Fili listened to the lilting whispers, knowing that he and Kili were the topic of conversation. He hated it -- being spoken about as if he weren't there. The two only spoke in their strange language when they were discussing his treatment. And now Kili's. Yet, he dared not confront them. They had saved his life. They were helping Kili. 

He swallowed, trying to suppress his sadness. His mouth was dry and he reached for the chalice of water that Erumiel had left on the table next to his bed. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely bring the vessel to his mouth. He wound up spilling a great deal of it down his front and over the tops of the bedclothes. 

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered to Erumiel, when she came towards him with a dry cloth. "I suppose I'm not recovering as quickly as I should. I feel far worse today than I did yesterday." 

"You need not apologize," Erumiel said as she handed Fili the cloth. "You have done nothing that calls for forgiveness." 

"But I have," Fili told her softly. "I had sworn to my brother that I would not tell anyone of his defilement. But in order to save his life, I had to betray him. I had to tell you. And now he loathes me. I'm glad that you brought him here to see me, that he's getting care. But now, I am the one causing him pain." He interlaced his fingers with great care in his lap, attempting to get the trembling under control. 

"You did what you knew to be right. Had you not told us, we might have kept him in a cell where his injuries would surely have worsened. Though if you believe that you have wronged your brother, then it is he whom you must ask for forgiveness, and only he who can forgive you." Erumiel glanced with concern down at Fili's shaking, white-knuckled hands. "Tell me, are you in pain? Is there anything I can do to ease your discomfort?" 

"When we were staying with Beorn," Fili told her, "he was giving me some sort of powder, in milk, that eased my pain and helped me sleep. It worked well, but now I'm beginning to think it may not have been as good for me as I originally believed. Since I have been without it, I've felt... well, awful. Worse each day. I wish I had never drunk any of that dreadful concoction." 

"I would imagine it was poppies," Tauriel said softly. "They grow in the mountain meadows. While they effectively kill pain and reduce anxiety, it's far too easy to become physically dependent on their effects. We use them very sparingly." 

"I was nearly dead when I was brought to Beorn's," Fili said in the giant's defense. "I am sure he was only doing what he felt was right. What can I do now... to feel better?" 

"There are some treatments that can reduce the discomfort," Erumiel said, "but they will take time to prepare." 

"It may be easier, and quicker, to simply endure the pain until it passes," Tauriel suggested. 

Fili was quiet for a few ticks, looking down sadly at his locked fingers. "That's it then, isn't it? My life? I used to think that every day was an adventure, waiting to be discovered. Now, I spend each day waiting for the pain to pass. This is no way to live." He blinked, and a tear ran from each eye. He quickly turned his face away. "I-I'm sorry. Could I be alone for a bit? I'll try to sleep," he promised. 

Erumiel gave a nearly imperceptible nod to Tauriel. "Of course," she said gently, eyes tearless, but filled with sorrow. "Call my name if you need me, Fili." 

"You will recover, Prince," Tauriel said with stoic certainty before she turned and followed Erumiel out, leaving Fili alone with his brother in the infirmary. 

As the gravity of the thoughts Fili had given voice to took hold, he allowed himself to let the emotions he had fended off for some time finally take hold. No part of him was spared the ravages of the past few weeks. He had thought that, just maybe, if he could keep a stiff upper lip, he could be strong enough for both himself and Kili, but now, in his frailty, he began to realize the futility of that goal. 

The powder Beorn had placed in the milk had worked quite a bit of magic. It had virtually eliminated his pain and had allowed him the refuge of sleep without dreams. But with each long, passing hour in the infirmary, Beorn's calming herbs had slowly worn off until he was finally left as he was now, shivering as sweat poured down his skin, aching from every wasted muscle. He tried to sleep, but his dreams were filled with huge, white, blood-stained hands, reaching for him. He was raped over and over as Kili watched, both of them helpless. He dreamed of fire and screaming animals and his screaming brother, crying out for help that Fili could not give. The only thing he could do was linger in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, reliving the violation as the memories replayed in his body. 

His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. Tears streamed unchecked from his eyes, coursing down his cheeks to disappear into the fabric of the bed sheets, and no comfort was found in their shedding. He tried to suppress his sensations, but as good as he was at ignoring pain, he could not ignore this. The ache in his muscles was deep and persistent, and he began to fear that he would never be free from the agony. Terrible helplessness overtook him, and his heart began to pound as he felt himself slip away into reliving the recent past in all its excruciating horror. He could still feel Azog's hands upon him, that ripping pain deep within his body, the searing stab of the claw into his chest. A wave of nausea coursed up through him and he buried his face in his pillow, determined to not lose the contents of his stomach. When a particularly painful burst of sensation in his muscles overwhelmed him, and he immediately found himself collapsed over the edge of the bed, hurling up sour bile and the reddish soup that Erumiel, in her kindness, had given him. 

When he felt the touch of a hand upon the back of his head, he gave a low, soft moan and turned away, not wanting to be seen as the mess he had become. But the hand was gentle, and as he felt the lip of a bowl touch his lips, he heard the healer's voice saying, softly, "This will help. Drink only a little. There, it will lessen the fear." 

The earthy taste of grass and sweet honey touched his tongue and he swallowed the small amount of liquid. Within moments, he began to feel the edge of his panic begin to soften, and he realized just how exhausted he still was. He fell back against the pillow, still in pain but thankfully less afraid. 

"More," he begged, reaching for Erumiel's hand. "Please, it hurts." 

"I am sorry," Erumiel said as she pulled away. "Your body must purge itself of the herbs that you were given. You crave it now, but that sensation will pass. Trust me, Fili." 

"But it hurts!" Fili gasped, flushing in shame at how something so simple as a meadow flower could reduce him to begging like an animal for scraps. Not even Azog had succeeded in making him beg. "Please... please, just make it stop." 

"It will soon pass. Try to rest." 

Somewhere in the distance, Fili could hear her moving away. He soon heard the low, unhappy sound of his brother's voice, but Kili did not speak in words. Fili forced his eyes open and stared at the watery image of his brother, being tended to by the elvish healer. She did something to him that Fili could not see, and when she retreated, leaving the dwarves alone together in the infirmary, Kili's eyes locked for a moment on Fili's. Though he could barely see the details of Kili's face, he felt acutely the meaning behind the cold and stiff expression in his brother's features. 

_You deserve it,_ Kili's hardened eyes seemed to say. And when Kili deliberately looked away, Fili let out a choked sob and he buried his face in his pillow. 

When they were but dwarflings and one or both of them caught colds, it wasn't unusual for them to crawl into bed with one another. It didn't help the illness, or the pain. Not really. And yet it seemed to. Fili wanted more than anything, right at that moment, for Kili to come to him, offering comfort and soft, soothing words. But he didn't. Instead, his eyes were like flint--accusing, dead. Had Kili forgotten the blows Fili had taken in trying to free them? Was he choosing to ignore that Fili had several times over offered his own body to be used by the orcs instead of Kili's? He would have suffered it all--every torturous moment--alone, if only Kili could have been spared this pain. 

"Kee," he whispered. "Please... I was only trying to help." 

Exhausted, far too tired to form his swirling thoughts into words that Kili would care to take the time to understand, Fili lay back weakly against his pillows, sniffling softly. He smelled horrible, not having had a proper bath in weeks. No wonder Kili was so repulsed by him. 

He wanted his mother. The babyish desire was due to the calming effect of Erumiel’s medicine, bringing out the basest of emotions, but he still flinched at his own weakness. Even as the medicine sent a comfortable, slow warmth spreading throughout his body until at last it reached his brain, he could not shut off the worst pain of all -- the wall Kili had erected between them. Silent and wet-eyed, he lay watching the stubborn figure in the next bed until sleep finally claimed him. 

\- - - - - 

Kili stared at a seam between the stones in the wall, listening as his brother's breathing evened out in slumber. It was less than a minute before Fili awoke again with a gasp and a soft cry, then rolled over fitfully in his bed. Kili squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to be moved by his brother's discomfort. It wasn't that he hated Fili or wanted him to suffer. Not at all. He was still angry, certainly, and still acutely felt the distance that had grown steadily between them, but he just didn't know what to do for Fili's pain. Kili didn't even know what to do for himself. 

It struck him then that he had never had to care for another person, and of the two brothers had always been the one who had needed looking after. The thought filled him with resentment. Who was he if he could not take care of himself? What sort of a brother was he if he could not be there for Fili when the worst had happened? The thought was draining, and only served to leave him feeling as hollow as a dried-up mine that has long passed into disuse. He had nothing left to give, not for himself and not for Fili. 

Softly, he said, "We're never going to recover from this, are we?" 

"Let me sleep, Kili." 

"But Fili..." 

"It hurts. I need to rest." 

Kili was silent. He frowned and traced his fingertip over the seam in the stone, and drew his knees up against his chest to comfort himself. "I can't rest," he said. "Not after what happened. I have nightmares." 

"Do you think I don't?" 

"Why are you being cruel?" 

"I'm not!" Fili snapped. "I'm in pain. I just..." He groaned and turned over again in his bed. "Please, just let me rest." 

"Fine," Kili said. "I want you to leave me alone anyways." 

"That's not fair, and you know it. You can't ask me questions and then when I tell you I'm hurting, turn it around and make it my fault. You can't do that to people." 

From a respectful distance, Erumiel listened to the exchange. These dwarves were certainly a passionate and hot-headed race. Each of the brothers seemed to feel a need to protect his pride, even at the sake of his own health. Now was the time when they should be rallying for one another, instead of tearing one another down. 

Clearing her throat, she approached Fili's bedside. "I cannot help but notice that the herbs I gave you aren't quite giving you the rest you need. Might I offer up a bit more?" In her hands she held a bowl of liquid. 

Fili's eyes turned to Kili's obstinate form, as if hoping his brother might roll over again, offering him some sort of comfort that might set his mind at ease. He did not. 

"Yes," Fili nodded. "I'm grateful for your concern, Erumiel. My sleep is very troubled." 

Erumiel understood. "I would be very concerned about your well being if it weren't." She slipped a cool hand beneath the nape of his neck and supported him while he took a few more swallows of the thick concoction. 

Fili's throat, still sore from his defilement by the spider queen, protested the scratchy herbs as they scraped down along its length. He felt so weak, so dependent on the good graces of these elves -- Thorin's sworn enemy -- and their medicine, for his comfort. "Thank you," he said. "I shall try sleeping again. If my uncle is allowed to return, please let him know it's all right to wake me." 

"We will need to bring him discreetly if you wish to see him," Erumiel said. 

"It was challenge enough to bring your brother here," Tauriel said. She sounded uncomfortable. "If I risk bringing Thorin here, I could be accused of treason. Your brother is one thing, especially given his injuries. But your uncle?" She shook her head sadly. "I am sorry, Fili, but I cannot bring him here unless my king expressly allows it. You understand." 

Fili understood. Of course he did. The kindness of Erumiel and his weakened state made him forget, intermittently, that they were still, indeed, prisoners. To think upon it too hard left him wracked with guilt for the rest of his company, stuck in cold cells with hard floors while he was afforded the luxury of a bed. 

"I should not have asked it of you, Erumiel," he said, voice wavering as he fought back tears. "You've been so kind to me. I would never put you in a position where you would come to harm. I cannot believe that I have been in this bed for so long, and yet I’m still so exhausted.” 

“Your body was ravaged, and so is your heart.” She pulled the covers up over the bandages on his chest. “Only time and rest will heal you.” 

Kili listened to their conversation, unsure if he should speak. He was still angry at Fili, but some small and rational part of him knew that even if Fili had said nothing, their imprisonment would have resulted in the elves discovering his secrets. It was not Fili's fault, but it embittered Kili to admit it. He curled up on the bed and pressed his fists to his forehead, pained at his own childishness, and only resumed his facade of strength when he heard soft footsteps approaching his bedside. 

"If you are awake," Tauriel said to him, gently, as she stopped beside his bed, "you may wish to have your bath now. Will you come with me?" 

"Do elves never sleep?" Kili asked, surprised by the petulance in his own voice. 

"We rest differently than your kind," Tauriel said. She extended a hand, which Kili took hesitantly. "Come, I will not harm you." 

Fili watched nervously as Tauriel touched his brother. He knew full well that his fear stemmed from the reduced dose of medicine, but that did nothing to lessen the sensation of panic that threatened to overtake him at the thought of being separated once more from his closest kin. 

"Where are you taking him?" he demanded, weakly pushing himself up from the bed until Erumiel's hands stopped him. 

"Simply to bathe," Erumiel said. "You may come too, if you wish." 

Fili’s heart lifted at the thought of a bath. The smell of his sickness and his injuries, and his wasted, ashen body repulsed him. Fever, infection, his own fluids and those of the spider stung in his nostrils. Reminding him how he had been used by Azog, violated by the foul forest creatures, and now discarded, a broken plaything that not even his brother would deign to play with. His heart sank back to the painful pit where, since Azog, it had come to reside. 

“I’m still quite dizzy,” he told Erumiel. It was a convenient excuse. “I should like to, very much, be clean. Perhaps after I’ve gotten some sleep. Would that be all right?” 

"Of course," Erumiel said. She lifted the bowl of medicine from the bedside table and stepped back, preparing to leave. "I will return when you are ready." 

Kili watched from across the room as Fili nodded and closed his eyes, settling into an uncomfortable rest. For a moment, Kili glared at him, angry and hurt and hollow. Tauriel made to help him from the bed, but he refused her, and got up on his own. He swayed a bit on his feet before Tauriel's steadying hand caught him on the elbow, and though he refused to say as much, a small part of him appreciated the stability. 

“You’ll feel much better once you’ve bathed,” Tauriel assured him. She led him slowly across the room and opened the door to a small but comfortable looking chamber which housed a pair of bathtubs, one of which was filled with steaming hot water. “I’ll leave you alone here, for privacy,” she assured him. “Ring this when you wish to come back out,” she advised, setting a small, silver bell down on the bathtub’s ledge, along with a towel and a fresh block of soap. "Take as long as you like," she said, slipping out of the room and closing the door. 

Kili was left alone staring at the pair of washtubs. He waited there by the door, motionless, unable to spur himself into action. _How pitiful,_ he thought, _that I cannot even bring myself to wash._

Through sheer stubbornness, he forced himself to move, gait haltingly slow as he made his way to one of the tubs. Plumes of fragrant steam rose from the water, and he dipped his fingers into it, testing for its warmth, feeling nothing. Silently, he began to strip. Upon the dwarves' capture, the elves had taken most of their possessions, and now Kili wore only a single, thin layer of clothing. It took as long to rid his body of the fabric as it might have taken to strip himself of armor. But eventually, he was naked, and he slid without looking at himself into the warmth of the bath. 

The long, quiet, lonesome minutes stretched out like melting tallow. The flicker of candlelight cast itself onto the water, turning the glassy surface to a mirror that reflected back Kili's face. The face of a stranger, disheveled hair stringy with grease, eyes devoid of anything but shame. He scattered the reflection with his palm. The mirror broke into waves of water and beneath the surface, he caught the sight of his nakedness. Distorted, bruised, neglected, just beginning to thin. He slipped his hand into the bath and ran a calloused fingertip over his hipbone, pressing at the flesh around the joint until the bone was jutting. 

He snapped his eyes upwards to the door when he heard a hoarse cry of anguish from the next room -- Fili’s. Clearly, his brave facade while awake could not protect him from the horrors of his nightmares. Kili could hear Erumiel’s voice as she tried to soothe away the terror. She seemed so calm, so dependable. An illusion. It was only a matter of time before the elves turned on them. No doubt she also offered Fili more of the bitter liquid _for the pain._ No, to keep him addicted, to keep him weak. 

Did it matter? Fili had betrayed him -- exposed Kili’s weakness to these elves Thorin despised. In doing so, he had exposed them all to the elves’ scrutiny and their derision. 

Nonetheless, his brother’s pain frightened him. He didn’t mind so much, being dependent on Fili for help. It was the way it had always been. But Fili needed _him_ now. He wished he could take back the cruel words he had spoken, but he still meant them. He was afraid, violated. And now, he was alone, with no companion and no one to care for him except his gnawing, comforting hunger.


	17. Sustenance

Fili’s days passed in a blur of drug withdrawal and physical pain and clouded thoughts. He lost time, mostly to sleep, and for that he was grateful. He hallucinated -- or perhaps he had dreamed -- that Bilbo had come to see him. The Hobbit was speaking to him, soothing him with a hand on his brow, but Fili could not see him. Still, the distinctive scent of his companion lingered after Fili awoke from his fugue.

For several more days, Kili continued to refuse to eat. He was wasting away in front of Fili’s eyes, and the pain of this final blow was unbearable. They had survived such horrors and now Kili would allow himself this slow death? Fili did what he could to urge Kili to eat, but his brother’s obstinate refusal to care for his withering health seemed to take more of a toll on Fili’s heart than the memories of his own injuries. More than once, the thought occurred to him that he would lose his brother, not to the quick and brutal death on the battlefield or even to torture like that they had endured, but to the slow, agonizing, wasting away of starvation. The thought of losing his brother like this, after all that they had suffered, was more than he could bear.

He urged Kili to eat, but his brother continued to ignore him. The only words Kili gave him were a few infrequent and disparaging remarks, mumbled under his breath. But his anger was weakening along with his body. Kili spent most of his time in bed now, but on the rare occasions that he stood and shuffled to the window, looking longingly out of their hospital prison, he did it with a heavy burden of grief carried on his skinny shoulders. Whenever Kili stood, Fili caught a glimpse of his thinning frame, bones now standing out in stark relief even beneath his clothing. It was not long before his despair got the better of him.

“Tauriel,” Fili whispered to the warrior one night once Kili was asleep, “I no longer know what to do. Help me. Help me encourage him to eat again.” 

“I could no sooner control your brother’s actions than I could control yours,” she said gently, smoothing the blankets over Fili’s chest. “But I shall try.”

“It must be soon,” Fili pleaded. “He will die if he does not eat.”

“Tomorrow then,” she promised him. “I’ll speak to him in the bath.”

“And what of you, Fili?” came Erumiel’s quiet voice from the doorway. She entered the infirmary with a tray laden with soup and the nerve-calming herbs and set the tray on his bedside table. When she drew near, Fili could see the lines of concern etched into her eternally ageless face. “Your wounds are not healing as fast as I would expect for one of your kind.”

“Perhaps it’s the venom,” Fili suggested, “or the fever. I have been so terribly tired since escaping from the clutches of those orcs. I feel as if I could sleep, and sleep some more.” 

Tauriel shared a concerned look with Erumiel, whom, she knew, had other theories.

“Fili.” Erumiel’s voice was gentle, but firm. “You concern yourself with your brother’s life so much that you have no energy to deal with your own pain.”

“And how can I not be concerned?” he responded. “His very bones are visible! It should not be so for a dwarf!”

“Of course you should be concerned,” Erumiel said. “But you can do nothing for him if you do not focus on healing yourself.”

“I am eating. I am taking your medicines and resting,” Fili argued, frowning. 

“It clearly isn’t enough,” Tauriel whispered to Erumiel, in Sindarin. “His sickness is worsened by the state of his heart.” She turned to Fili. “You have my word that I will speak with your brother. If I can get him to eat, that may bring you the peace you need in order to begin healing.”

“I will have no peace until he’s on the path to recovery,” Fili assured them. “Thank you, Tauriel. And thank you, Erumiel, for your concerns about me.”

A wan smile touched the corners of Erumiel’s mouth. “You are my patient. I will be concerned for you so long as you are in my care, and after.” She turned to leave, and was followed out by Tauriel.

Fili reached for the bowl of stew, happy to see larger chunks of vegetables than he’d previously been fed. “I will see you well, brother,” he whispered, carefully bringing a spoonful to his mouth. “We did not come this far only to stop fighting now.”

Across the room, Kili only slept, silent and still, until the night had passed and morning came without a glimpse of sunlight through the thick of dark, somber trees.

Today, as yesterday, and the day before that, Kili would not touch his food. The fruit, bread and milk Erumiel brought for them sat for hours uneaten on Kili’s bedside table. Even the honey, which Kili had once loved to slather on his bread with impunity, did not whet his appetite. 

He had lost count of how many days he had gone without eating, and now he no longer felt the need. Within three days, the pains of hunger had ebbed, taking with them the aching memories of his suffering. He still remembered everything, but now it was with a stark and emotionless clarity. None of the brutal, despairing feelings accompanied the very simple reality of what had happened to him. It was not exactly a pleasant sensation, but neither was it unbearable, as the pain had been. And the emotionless void stemmed from the fact that he simply had no energy now to waste on his damaging feelings. He would not eat again, for then his sadness would come rushing back to haunt him.

Throughout the morning, Fili watched and waited for Kili to eat, but the sinking feeling in his chest told him that today would be no different than the day before, or the week before, or even longer. He had lost track of how long they had been here. 

At the very least, the food was good, and Fili so desperately wished that Kili would eat it. His hand trembled as he held his bread and took a bite. Across from him, his brother had rolled away from him. It seemed to be all he could do anymore. Fili could no longer stand it.

“My, this bread is delicious!” he remarked, in the most carefree voice he could muster. “It’s never so light or so filling at home.”

“Eat it all yourself, then,” Kili said, coldly.

“I imagine I could,” Fili mused. “But I’d rather share it with you, brother.”

“I’m not hungry.” By now, it was the truth.

“You are _starving,_ ” Fili told him. “That is why you can no longer discern the difference. You are starving and dying in front of me!” 

“Then, so be it,” Kili whispered, too quiet for Fili to hear. Without another word, he stood with difficulty and drifted to the window. Outside, the canopy of the Mirkwood trees loomed over Thranduil’s kingdom, so thick as to blot out the sun. A part of him wanted to climb through the window and hurl himself to the forest floor below, but the window was too narrow for his dwarvish frame to fit through and the fall was too short to kill him. And what did it matter, anyway? In depriving himself of nutrition, he had managed to find a way to live without being haunted by pain. Of course, he no longer felt joy, or laughter, or love. But that was a small price to pay for the comfort brought by emptiness.

 _Oh, Kee..._ Fili’s heart ached, watching his brother hobble about like a weak old dwarrow. His stomach churned and his eyes welled with tears. _I cannot bear it!_

Fili made to speak again, but was interrupted by the sound of the infirmary door opening. He glanced up to see Tauriel enter, and she gave him a brief, silent nod before approaching Kili. She stopped a few paces behind him and waited for him to turn. He did not move.

“Kili,” she said after an overly long and awkward silence. Only at hearing his name did he finally acknowledge her presence. Nothing more than a slow turn of the head, but not enough to meet her gaze. Tauriel took it to mean attentiveness. “It’s been four days since you’ve bathed. I’ve drawn you some water.”

Kili didn’t speak when he turned around, but the annoyance was clear in his eyes. Fili watched hopefully as his brother shuffled after the she-elf towards the private bathing area. 

“Why don’t you elves bother Fili at all?” Kili asked Tauriel once they were alone in the bath house. 

“I am not sure he would see it that way,” Tauriel responded. “You’ve heard the curses when we change the bandages on his shoulder.”

Kili winced in sadness at the thought of Fili in pain, but the emotion was weak and fleeting. “He’ll be all right with time, won’t he?”

“The wounds in his body will heal, yes. It will be some time yet, but he will wield a sword again.” She smiled faintly, then turned to pick up a clean towel and a bar of soap, which she set on the table beside the steaming tub before retreating to the doorway. There, she stood with her hands folded, waiting for Kili to do something, but what, he wasn’t sure.

“Good,” was all that Kili could say.

“And you,” Tauriel said, “You are a warrior, too, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. All dwarves are.”

“It’s not so different for our kind. Our borders are always under threat from spiders or orcs or other foul creatures. Every elf trains with sword and bow from the time that we are youths until the time we leave this world. But our weapons are not so diverse as those of your people. Tell me, Kili, do you favor the axe, or perhaps the hammer?”

“Neither,” Kili admitted. “I was strange for a dwarvish fighter.”

“‘Was’,” Tauriel repeated, questioningly. The faintest furrow touched her brow. “You are still a fighter, even if you do not see it at the moment.”

“I don’t even have the strength to string a bow anymore.” Again, Kili felt a dim and fleeting sense of sadness, but soon it was gone. “I’m not a fighter anymore.”

“Yes you are,” she said, as if she had expected his answer. “You are an archer, like me. I believe you will again wield your bow, Kili. But only if you give your body and mind the nourishment they need in order to heal. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“You don’t even understand,” Kili said. His words were more biting than he’d intended them to be. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. You know what happened to me, what that orc forced me to do. I ate…” he swallowed, then shuddered out the truth. “I ate a person. I don’t even know what kind. Man, or elf, or even… even my own race. Can you blame me for not wanting to eat again?”

“Of course not,” Tauriel said immediately. “But you are not their prisoner any longer. You will never again have to do what they made you do. Will you let them continue to torture you, even though you escaped their clutches? I saw how ardently you fought for your brother’s safety when we brought you here. Will you not fight just as ferociously for your own life?” 

Tauriel’s words struck Kili like a slap to the face. He stammered for a moment, wholly at a loss as to what to say. Then he realized how familiar her words sounded. The raw anger came flooding up inside of him and he stormed up to her, glaring up into her treacherous face. “Fili put you up to this, didn’t he? He told you to speak with me! You don’t actually care about me, do you? It’s all about Fili!”

“How dare you presume to know my mind, dwarf?” Tauriel’s voice darkened along with her eyes. “Do you think it pleases me to watch you suffer so? To see you starve? To have saved you from a giant spider about to devour you, only to repaid by watching you killing yourself?”

“You should have let it kill me!” Kili stormed past her and through the door to the infirmary, slamming it shut behind him. “Fili!”

Fili jumped at Kili’s harsh rebuke and felt himself recoil against the wall as Kili broke into a sprint straight for him. Bony fingers buried themselves in the collar of Fili’s night shirt and Kili shook him hard, as hard as his failing strength would let him. Across the room, Tauriel came bursting out of the bath chamber, but stopped short of intervening.

“Damn you, brother! You don’t understand what you’re doing. This is all I have. Why are you taking this from me?”

Fili winced as he felt the stitches in the wound on his shoulder pulling painfully. “I’ll tell you why, Kili.” Fili’s eyes were wide with alarm, but his words were resolute. “Because it’s taking you away from me! And you are all that matters to me.”

“Then why didn’t you _fight_ him? I was tied up and you were free to fight, and you didn’t! You didn’t try to defend me. You coward.”

Fili recoiled as if struck, and his face grew as pale as the bed linens. Then, he let out a roar and drew back his uninjured arm and backhanded Kili across the cheek. The blow wasn’t that hard, but it was enough to send Kili spinning to the floor. Kili’s hand shot to his cheek and his eyes went wide with shock. Fili had the urge to leap from the bed and pummel his brother until he was bloody. Only his frailty stopped him. 

“How could you say that?” he bellowed. “You know what he did to me… to us! To _both_ of us, and you call me a coward? I would have given my life to spare you from what happened! I didn’t fight him because Azog would have killed me and turned on you. I will never heal from some of what he did to me. And I thank the makers that he did not do that to you.” He gasped heavily, breathless. When he spoke again, his voice broke and his anger evaporated, leaving nothing in its wake but guilt. “And still, and still… it was not enough. He still hurt you.” His eyes fell closed and the brimming tears spilled forth from beneath his lashes and streamed down his red-hot cheeks. “I failed you.”

Kili sat motionless on the floor, overwhelmed by Fili’s outburst. He clutched his stinging cheek and stared at Fili, unable to think of anything to say. He could not think, and he could not move. Everything was consumed by the sudden realization that in his own grief, he had not once cared, truly cared, for how much his brother had suffered. How much he still suffered, seeing Kili as he was now.

Finally, Kili found the strength to pull his hand away from his face, and he dropped his fingers into his lap. His bony digits rested against his too-thin thigh, and he knew then that he had come to blame anyone and everyone but himself for his suffering, including his own kin. And there was nothing that anyone but himself could do to bring an end to that pain.

“I’m still failing you,” Fili whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Kili tentatively reached for Fili’s hand. Fili closed his fingers around Kili’s palm, gripping him as if for life. “Please, don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Kili…” Fili trailed off. He opened his eyes and fixed Kili with an imploring stare. “I can’t do this without you. You cannot leave me now.”

“I don’t know how to keep going after all this.”

“Nor do I.” Fili let out a soft, defeated laugh. “I suppose at least we can struggle through this together.”

“Aye,” Kili said. It was half-hearted, but that was better than nothing.

“Kili…” Fili’s eyes grew sad again.

“You want me to eat something,” Kili assumed. When Fili gave him a silent, affirming nod, a heaviness settled into his chest, but he was eventually able to resign himself to the fact that if he was to stay here with Fili and help him get better, he had to attend to his own needs. That meant eating again, and facing the pain of the past, and perhaps eventually, learning to live with what had happened until it ceased to cause him despair.

That sounded far easier than he knew it was going to be.

A deep sense of exhaustion came over him and he rested his head against Fili’s knee, letting his eyes fall closed. His brother laid a hand on the back of his head and smoothed his hair. The touch was reassuring, and strengthening.

“All right,” Kili said at long last. He pulled his head up out of Fili’s lap and was greeted with a look of relief. Not a smile, but something more hopeful.

“It’s okay to take your time,” said Tauriel. She still stood near the entrance to the bathing chamber, and now she made her way toward Kili’s bedside table, where she had left a small, untouched plate of berries and bread. She gestured to the plate, then stepped away. “I will leave you to do this on your own.”

Fili did not speak to her, but his eyes conveyed his gratefulness as she left the infirmary. When it was once again just the brothers, he turned back to Kili and glanced pointedly at the plate across the room. “Do you want me to get it for you?”

“Are you healed enough to walk?”

Fili colored, glancing down at his broken body beneath the bedsheets. “I hope so. It still hurts, Kili.”

“Then don’t move.” Kili pushed himself to his feet. The movement was slow, but still put his head into a dizzying spin. He reeled for a moment with the faintness, but soon the sensation passed and he could bring himself to walk toward the plate.

Once he had the food in his hands, he stared at it for a long, long while. It felt impossible to move, either to put the berries back on the plate or to bring them to his lips. He knew he needed the nourishment, but also knew that even this meager mouthful would help to bring back the pain he had finally managed to escape. He didn’t want to eat. Never again. But as he turned back to look at Fili, seeing the hope still written into his features, he knew he had to push past his own resistance in order to begin to heal.

Fili dared not breathe as he watched emotions play across his brother’s features. The very strength and control that Kili had mustered up in order to starve himself for so long would now have to be set towards a different goal -- that of getting well. And to get well, he had to eat--something, _anything._ He knew that Kili was doing this for him. But a time would come, sooner rather than later, he prayed, that Kili would again enjoy a hearty meal of his own volition. That, and so many other things that they had ceased to enjoy. One day, perhaps, they would again enjoy the free and beautiful things that life could give. But not today. For today, the berries would have to suffice.

Hesitantly, Kili brought the berries to his lips. Eventually he popped one into his mouth. A burst of sweet flavor exploded on his tongue, igniting his senses until all he could feel was how _good_ the food was -- not in the way that a feast was good, but in the heart-lifting and soul-calming way of needed medicine. He still struggled to finish the handful of berries, he truly did feel better.

In his own bed, Fili’s tense frame relaxed and his hands unclenched. He felt something unfurl inside him that he hadn’t felt since they’d escaped Goblintown -- hope. He waited until his brother had eaten all of the berries and a bite or two of bread before whispering, “Kee… I… I’m sorry I was so cruel to you.”

Kili swallowed his bite and set the chunk of bread down on the plate. He dropped his eyes to his hands, then looked forlornly up at Fili. “It’s all right,” he said, quietly.

“No, it was wrong. I should not have struck you. I am sorry.”

“Perhaps I needed it.”

“Perhaps you did, but I took no pleasure in it.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re not like… like…”

“Don’t say it,” Fili said, cutting his brother off. “Please don’t say their names.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Kili hugged his knees to his chest, wrapping his legs in his arms as if for warmth, but in truth, he only wanted the comfort. “They’re monsters, Fili.”

Fili sighed. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow. “I know. By the makers, I know. And they are not the only ones.”

“The world is full of them, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Fili said, “but that’s no reason to stay in the mountain halls, never to venture outside for fear of being harmed. It’ll never be okay, what they did to us, but we cannot let them break us, nor keep us from doing what we set out to do.” 

He eased himself up and slid his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing through the stabbing pain that shot up through his body until he was standing on his own two feet. His eyes were still reddened from tears, but there was a steely grit to them now that Kili had not seen since before their first night in that cave. The look in Fili’s eyes was bolstering, and despite his lingering sadness, Kili found himself smiling faintly. 

“We’ve suffered,” Fili said. “That much is true. But we make our own luck, and we choose our own fates. I choose to live, and to continue this journey. I will not let Azog destroy me. I would see him dead for what he’s done to us!”

“You are so angry…” Kili’s words were little more than a whisper.

“You are my little brother. I couldn’t protect you from them. By Durin, I _am_ angry!” Fili’s voice was dark and low. “Angry enough to leave this place and hunt them to the edges of the map.”

“I imagine we will not have to hunt them, brother,” Kili said, troubled by Tauriel’s words. Her voice stuck out in his mind, and he feared that they had not seen the last of the pale orc and his foul spawn. The dread that came with that thought was almost enough to overwhelm him. “They’ll find us.”

“Then when they do,” Fili said, fixing Kili with a caustic, vengeful glare, “we will kill them.”


	18. Torment

Bilbo roamed the cavernous halls of Thranduil’s kingdom, invisible as he visited the infirmary each day, checking on Thorin’s heirs. He tried to time it so that they slept when he arrived; it pained him to see them in any state but one of rest. It wasn’t that it was particularly easy, but at least he felt less like he was intruding when there was no chance that they would detect his presence.

He had revealed himself to Thorin several days ago when it had become clear that he, the little hobbit that he was, might very well be the dwarves’ only chance of escape. But he had not yet made his presence known to the youngest two of their party. Were Fili and Kili to know of his presence in the infirmary, he suspected they would heal more slowly due to the shame of knowing he’d seen them in such a sorry state. And so, he kept himself hidden from them with his magic ring, and only checked in on them at night.

By now, he knew the way to the infirmary by heart. It wasn’t all that far from the dungeons, just several flights of too-tall stairs up to one of the towers. Each day, after checking in on Fili and Kili, he would make his way back down to the dungeon to inform Thorin of their status.

“They seem to be healing,” Bilbo whispered to Thorin through the bars of the cell. “But Kili has thinned, and Fili is bedridden.”

“Has Kili taken any food?” Thorin wanted to know.

“I think so, yes. His wounds are healing faster now and color returns to his cheeks.”

“Good. Poor lads need to be back on their feet.” Thorin wore a look of worry mixed with paranoia, and his eyes darted around his cell as if he were expecting elves to be there with him, listening intently to anything he said.

“You mustn’t rush their healing, Thorin.”

“How can I, locked up in this cell?” Thorin grabbed the bars emphatically. “Near three weeks, we’ve been here, and Thranduil gives no signs that he will ever release us!”

“I’m trying” -- Bilbo bit down on his words and hid as he heard the sound of footfalls on the stairs high above him. When the footsteps faded, he lowered his voice and whispered to Thorin, “I’m trying to determine how we can escape from here. I’ve had no luck yet. Every entrance is guarded by at least two guards, and there are nearly always elves on the stairs above us. We’ll have no chance of escaping without being clever about it.”

“We are not escaping without my nephews!” Thorin growled.

“No, no! Of course not. But… but they don’t even know I’m here! They haven’t seen me. Nor have the elves.”

“If the elves see you, Bilbo, all is lost,” Balin told him gravely. 

Bilbo blinked at him. “Well, they won’t.” In truth, he wasn’t so sure. His first night in the kingdom, he had nearly been run over by an elf who hadn’t seen him in the way. His ring may have made him invisible, but he did not think it would make him disappear entirely.

He turned back to Thorin. “I’ll find a way,” he promised.

“If you need to,” Thorin said, quietly, “see that they get out instead of us.”

“Wha! To go where? We’re surrounded by this dangerous forest!” Bilbo waved his hands around frantically. “Without you, they’ll never survive out there after what happened to them. After…” He trailed off, not able to bring himself to say what the orcs had done to the lads. He knew well enough. Word had traveled quickly among the dwarves and he had overheard it all. For all their talk of honor and secrets from outsiders, they were just as gossipy among their own kind as a tavern full of Proudfoots. “Thorin, you must go with them. I’ve been watching the movements of the elves, and I think if I time it right, I can get the lot of you to one of the towers and we can escape through a window over the river. But it will only work if we can get Fili and Kili before then. Otherwise, they’ll know you’ve escaped before we’ve had the chance to free your nephews.”

“When?”

“I’ve heard talk of a coming party,” Bilbo said. “Some moon celebration in less than a week’s time. All the elves will be in attendance, from what I’ve gathered. They all seem quite excited… or, well. As excited as an elf can get, I suppose.”

“And you can get Fili and Kili back here before then?” Thorin asked eagerly.

Bilbo hesitated, not knowing if he could. But then he said to Thorin, resolutely, “You have my word that I will try.”

Then without another word, he darted away up the stairs and slipped on his ring, disappearing like mist into the shadows.

\- - - - - 

Fili had dreamed of Bilbo several times while in his infirmary bed. He dreamed the Hobbit came to his bedside and was speaking to him, reassuring him. But when he opened his eyes, no one was there. He didn’t ask Kili if he’d heard Bilbo in the room; he merely assumed the hallucinations were a residual side effect of his withdrawal from the poppy milk.

And yet, his hands had finally stopped their traitorous shaking. The room no longer went blurry around the edges of his vision. And he no longer felt the horrible, inexplicable fear that Azog and Bolg could come exploding into the infirmary at any moment and snatch his brother away from him. The aftereffects of the poppy, it seemed, were finally beginning to fade.

His other injuries were beginning to heal, as well. Parts of him continued to ache, but it was more of a low, tolerable pain than the deep stabbing sensations he had felt in the first few days after Azog’s assault. Digestion no longer hurt, and only when he thought of what the orcs and the spiders had done to him did he feel a sudden plummet of his stomach. So he stopped thinking about it and poured all his spare thoughts into the well-being of his brother.

Kili was also beginning to look healthier. His cheeks were again filling out; the gauntness was receding. He was still too thin by far, but at least his color was returning now that he willingly ate the food brought to him by Erumiel. His distrustful looks continued, and he still picked at the berries and bread and thin, milky soup they gave him, but he no longer refused their hospitality. This alone helped ease Fili’s fears. 

Their journey of healing was not easy, but it was less difficult than it could have been now that Fili and Kili were once again on speaking terms. They spent their waking hours together, trying to rekindle the closeness that they’d had before their torture. Kili had even resumed his ritual of grooming Fili’s braids, and though they both knew that things had been forever changed between them -- that the joy of their youths had been sucked from their bodies and there would be no going back to the way that things once had been -- they still found comfort in each other’s presence. Even more now, it seemed, after what they had lived through together.

As they healed, Fili had heard Erumiel and Tauriel whispering with increasing frequency. The elves had spoken in their own strange tongue, but Fili had heard enough of it by now to begin to pick out a vague semblance of meaning from the words. The elves were, yet again, discussing their young patients. Their tones were hopeful, light almost. Fili breathed easier knowing that he and Kili were on the mend. It was only a matter of time before they were well enough to be released from the infirmary. But their fate after that was yet unwritten. 

These were Fili’s thoughts when a tall, haughty elf with long, pale hair strode into the infirmary one mid-morning. Tauriel was at his side, and Erumiel trailed behind him with her hands folded neatly in front of her. It was after the brothers’ bath, and now Fili and Kili sat on Fili’s bed, and Kili was in the middle of braiding a long plait down the back of Fili’s damp hair. Fili glanced up curiously at the strange, well-dressed elf, but Kili only threw him a dirty, distrustful glare before turning his attention back to Fili’s braid, pulling a bit harder than was necessary. 

“Ah,” the strange elf said with a tone of casualness that caught Fili by surprise. “Our two patients are awake and well, it seems.”

Fili drew himself up straighter. “We have your hospitality to thank for that. Your healer, Erumiel, has taken very good care of us.”

The elf merely raised his head while keeping his eyes trained on Fili, looking down that long, sharp nose of his as if Fili were a worm. The utter disdain in those dark blue eyes made something knot up inside Fili’s stomach. It took every effort to hold the elf’s arrogant glare.

“She has informed me that your healing has progressed remarkably. Though…” the elf gave a soft laugh, “I had to see for myself if it was true. You see, when I first came to the infirmary, you were vomiting yourself free of those wretched spider eggs and so delirious from your drugs that you did not even heed my presence. I had not seen that one, yet.” The elf’s eyes flitted to Kili, who stiffened behind his brother.

Unconsciously, Fili drew back closer to Kili. “That seems like something that happened to me in a horrible nightmare.” Hearing of it made his gorge rise. “But I remember you. You asked me questions.”

“Yes, I did question you. I asked you your name, and your business in my land.”

“I have nothing more to tell you now than I did then.”

“Is that so, Fili, son of Dis?” The elf’s smile widened into a menacing grin.

Fili’s eyes narrowed, but he did not give his host the pleasure of a reply. 

_My land,_ the elf had said just now. So this was Thranduil, King of the Greenwood. Not a foe to be taken lightly. Despite his injuries, Fili felt his body readying itself for a fight, but he knew already that if it came to blows, he would lose, and badly.

Kili did not seem to share his cautiousness. “Leave him alone,” he said aggressively. “He doesn’t wish to speak with you.”

Fili put a warning hand on his brother’s knee in an effort to silence him.

“But I wish to speak with you.” Thranduil’s voice was mockery of civility. “I wish to know how well you have healed in the care of my servants.”

Erumiel’s eyes darted up to Thranduil for only a moment, but when she averted her eyes, a look of wariness seemed to linger about her before the expression disappeared back beneath the facade of emotionlessness that all elves seemed to wear.

“Erumiel has been more than kind,” Fili told Thranduil, hoping to keep things from getting out of hand. “And Tauriel brought my brother here for care. I am grateful to her as well.”

“You do realize that they would have killed you if I had ordered it?” Thranduil said it as a matter-of-fact. “Save your gratitude for me, not them.”

“I…” Fili’s eyes went to Erumiel, but he found his caretaker looking away and down at the floor.

“How do you know who we are?” came Kili’s question in a quiet, concerned voice. When Fili turned back to look at him, he saw that Kili’s eyes were fixed on Thranduil. His entire body had gone rigid like a coiled spring, and he had that look in his eyes he got shortly before doing something very, very foolish.

“Just let me take care of this,” Fili tried to reassure him.

“Why, Erumiel told me.” Thranduil said.

“My lord…” Erumiel’s eyes had widened. If elves could blush, she would have.

“Permission to speak freely, my lord,” Tauriel said, quickly.

“Wait outside,” Thranduil said, cutting them both off without even a glance their way. All his attention was fixed on Fili and Kili.

Fili grew deeply uncomfortable, being under the penetrating glare of a king who held them at his mercy. It was too familiar, too much like being watched with interest by those who would destroy him for no reason beyond their own enjoyment.

“Are you going to kill us now, then?” he demanded.

Thranduil laughed merrily, taken aback by the forwardness of Fili’s question. “Oh, no! Dear lad, why would I kill you? I am no monster.”

Kili let out an involuntary, sardonic scoff. Fili tightened his grip on Kili’s knee until his knuckles went white.

_Elves are not to be trusted._ So many times had Thorin told his nephews this that they could hear his voice saying it even as they sat there with Thranduil towering over them.

“You have asked your _servants_ ” -- Fili’s distaste for the word was obvious in his tone -- “to leave us. For what other reason would you do that?”

Thranduil turned then to the two elvish women, who were already at the door. “Tauriel, wait.”

Tauriel stopped. Erumiel gave her a worried glance before turning back to the door and disappearing out into the hall.

“Turn around.”

Hesitantly, Tauriel did as she was bidden, but not even her elvish aloofness could disguise the anger she felt.

“Draw your blade.”

She did as she was told.

“Cut this one’s arm off.” Thranduil grabbed Kili by the wrist. 

Kili gave a sudden, angry yelp as Thranduil dragged him from the bed. He began to thrash violently against the elvish king’s grip, but was still too weak to break himself free.

“No!” Fili cried out, pulling himself to his feet with agonizing slowness.

Thranduil thrust an arm out and struck Fili hard in the chest, sending him sprawling back onto the bed in a fit of pained coughing.

“Tauriel… no!” Fili begged her. “Please, don’t hurt him!”

For a moment, Tauriel looked as though she might slay her own king. But then, she gritted her teeth and marched toward Kili. She raised her blade to rend his arm at the elbow, but just before she brought the blade down, Thranduil commanded, “Stop.”

The blade went still in the air.

“I changed my mind,” Thranduil said coolly over Kili’s shrieking. “I don’t like that hair of his. Cut it off.”

Without question, Tauriel brought the blade back behind Kili’s head and sliced off his long black tresses. Kili howled as if she had scalped him.

“No!” Fili yelled. His stomach sank, seeing Kili so emasculated.

Thranduil paid him no heed. “Turn around,” he commanded.

Tauriel obeyed. Kili’s shorn hair slipped from her fingers and fell in a messy heap on the floor.

“Now, stand on one foot and do not move until I command it.”

“Please, stop this!” Fili yelled, surprised by the vigor he could muster.

Thranduil was a tyrant--a maniacal, petulant tyrant! He sat up weakly, one hand over the sore spot on his chest. He ached seeing Kili shorn and Tauriel’s loyalty tested. Did Thranduil know how deeply insulting his antics were, or was he simply making up ways to torture his prisoners as he went along?

Thranduil craned his neck back toward the bed, eying Fili with almost childlike curiosity. “You really are nothing like your uncle. Are you?”

Abruptly, he stood and let Kili go. Kili scrambled out from under him and his hands shot to his head. He grasped at chopped ends of his hair, cut unevenly to chin-length. With a cry of fury, he charged at Thranduil, who deftly brought his hand up and caught him in the neck. The blow sent Kili collapsing back to the floor with a gasping series of coughs. 

Through it all, Thranduil had not taken his eyes from Fili. “You want to _avoid_ a fight! Ah, I see it now. No wonder you were so easily defeated by those orcs and those spiders. You do not jump to warfare, like the rest of your worthless kind.” He shot a disgusted look at Kili that made Fili’s blood seem to boil. “You would not fight back even when the orcs had their way with you. Would you?”

Fili’s lower lip trembled minutely and he shuddered. “My wounds are a testament to how I fought,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Poorly,” Thranduil smirked. “Tell me, did it hurt? When he pushed his way inside your body, claiming you for his pleasure?”

“You do not need to know that.” Fili’s words grew bitter and he swallowed down the painful memory. It had been like no pain imaginable and even the thought of it sent cramps surging up through his pelvis. He was in pain still, but would never let on as much, giving Thranduil more means of tormenting him or his brother. Involuntarily, his eyes fell to the pile of hair left on the floor by Tauriel’s blade. _Oh, khazash!_ he lamented. _Will this torture never end?_

“I have heard it can be quite pleasurable to be taken in such a manner.” Thranduil’s voice had dropped to a low whisper, and now, he stepped toward Fili, his eyes gleaming dangerously. 

“You should try it then,” Fili scoffed.

“You wish me to rape the girl? Very well, then.”

Tauriel gasped as Thranduil spun and grabbed her by the elbow. 

“NO!” Kili cried. He leapt to his feet and barreled into Thranduil. The tyrant extended one hand and planted his palm squarely on Kili’s forehead, keeping him at a distance. With his other hand, he began to drag Tauriel to the floor.

“Stop!” Fili again tried to struggle to his feet, impeded by his slinged arm.

At last, Tauriel’s complacency seemed to break. She spun in fury and slammed a fist into her king’s chest, knocking him back. Thranduil gave a startled gasp and Tauriel delivered a second quick jab to his belly before wrenching her arm free. Then she raced from the infirmary, cracking the door as she slammed it shut behind her.

In the stunned silence that followed, Fili asked, “How can you be so cruel to your own people? Do they mean nothing to you? What kind of king are you?”

“A monstrous one,” Kili growled. “You don’t deserve your power!”

“And you think your uncle deserves his power, hmm?” Thranduil had rapidly regained his composure.

“Uncle would never do what you just did,” Fili said with certainty. “He would never abuse the loyalty of another.” Fili felt fear unfurling inside him. How could he and his brother expect any sort of mercy from a monarch who’d attack his own people to prove a foolish point?

“Do not speak so hastily until you see Thorin under the sway of gold,” Thranduil warned. “Mark my words, dwarf. If your uncle returns to Erebor, he will fall to the same madness as your forebears. As will you, boy. It is in your blood. The ties of loyalty and kinship will rupture beneath the weight of your people’s greed.”

“Never!” Fili declared. “You do not know us!” He had heard enough. Forcefully, he pushed himself from the bed and stood on trembling legs as he glared up at Thranduil. His hand yearned for a weapon, but the only blade in the infirmary was a tiny dagger used for clipping stitches on the other side of the room. It would not harm the elvish king unless Fili could get it to his throat…

His thoughts were cut off when he caught a flash of dark movement out of the corner of his eye. Kili dropped to the floor beside Thranduil and kicked his foot out, catching the king’s boot and forcing him off-balance. Fili took the offered chance and with a yell of rage, he charged Thranduil and threw him to the ground. Thranduil hit the floor hard but recovered quickly. He swung his boot up, catching Kili in the face. A crunch of bone and a spurt of blood was followed by Kili’s sharp cry as he crumpled to his knees. Blinding tears streamed from his squeezed-shut eyes.

Seeing Kili bleed brought Fili back into that accursed cave and suddenly he no longer saw Thranduil. The fair, elvish features had been replaced with the white face of Azog. Before he realized what he was doing, Fili slammed his weight into the monstrous orc and beat him hard with his fists. The sling around his arm broke under the force of his movements and blinding pain shot up through his shoulder. But it did not -- _could_ not -- hinder him. This was vengeance, and he would kill Azog once and for all. When the orc fell to the ground, Fili’s fingers closed around his throat and began to squeeze.

A sudden blow knocked Fili back and he lost his grip on the enemy’s throat. Azog threw him with such force that when his back hit the floor, the wind was knocked from his lungs and a searing pain burned its way through his chest cavity. His head hit the floor and bounced, setting stars winking in front of his eyes and his ears ringing. When the sound finally faded, he thought that he heard laughter.

“Little princeling, you have certainly proved yourself entertaining, if nothing else!” the elvenking’s voice forced him to full consciousness. “I am certain that the Defiler felt the same before he had his way with you. And you.” He turned to Kili, who gingerly gripped the base of his gushing nose to stem the bleeding. “Did he laugh when he raped you, too?”

“Be… silent…” Fili gasped, struggling to sit up. “By Mahal, will you stop your infernal talking?!”

“Ah.” Thranduil waved a hand dismissively. “I believe I’m finished here.” He drew in a long, haughty breath through his nostrils and strode past Fili and Kili, both still in separate heaps upon the floor. Without another word or so much as a backward glance, Thranduil opened the infirmary door and stepped out into the hall, disappearing behind a pillar like some vicious poltergeist.

“Fili…” Kili’s voice sounded thick through the flow of blood. He grasped for his brother’s hand.

Fili reached towards him and pulled him into an embrace. “I’m so sorry, Kee,” Fili held him tightly, despite the pain in his chest and shoulder. “I should have… I could have…”

“I want him dead!” Kili growled. He gave a soggy, choking gasp and spit blood onto the floor.

With his good arm, Fili raised his hand to Kili’s hair, now shorn unevenly to just above his shoulders. “He will pay… somehow. I promise you, Kili.”

“Like Azog and Bolg?” Kili’s voice was quiet but acerbic.

“They will die first,” Fili assured him. _Or I will die trying to kill them,_ he wanted to add. But just then, he heard footsteps outside the open infirmary door and looked up just in time to see a cadre of guards sweep into the infirmary. Four of them descended upon each brother and pulled them to their feet. Fili had to grit his teeth to suppress the pain that ripped through him with the grasp of their forceful hands.

The room suddenly went dark as one of the elves shoved a sack over Fili’s head. One of the elves grabbed his hands and bound them behind his back, caring not that it sent burning agony up through his shoulder and chest. He heard Kili’s yell of anger curdle into a howl of terror as he too was bagged and bound.

“Kili!” Fili cried out, voice muffled by the cloth. “I’m here… d-don’t fight them.” Disoriented, his head spun and he lost his footing, stumbling blindly, only to be yanked upright by his captors.

“You _know_ what happens when we don’t fight!” Kili’s voice was desperate, terrified. “Please, Fili! No, get your hands off me!”

Fili could hear Kili being dragged screaming from the infirmary. He hollered after his brother but then the elves who had him by the arms began to drag him from the room. Outside the infirmary, Kili’s cries were quickly swallowed up by their own echoes until they faded away entirely.

“Kili!” Fili hollered after him. “KILI!”

“Move,” ordered an elvish guard.

“No, where did you take him!?”

“He will be unharmed.” The male voice was terse, but not unkind. Fili didn’t trust it. He had seen enough of the ways of elves to know the truth of their nature.

“You torture me instead of him!” Fili cried, tears wetting his cheeks.

“There will be no torture,” the elf said. Then, quietly, he added, “I am not my father.”

Fili went still at the revelation of who this was. His breath caught painfully in his lungs and he shied away from the voice of Thranduil’s son.

The elvish prince said something in that strange tongue of the wood elves and then there were retreating footsteps. When the prince had gone, the rest of the elves wasted no time in dragging Fili to the prison. From the carelessness of their movements, Fili had the sudden dread that he was being hauled off for an execution.

Nearly paralyzed with fear, Fili kept stumbling as the elves shoved him along, legs too short to keep up with their quick pace. They did not seem to care that he was struggling. They pushed him harder when he staggered, dragged him when his feet slipped on the stones, reopening the tears in his recently healed chest and between his thighs. A burning pain began to grow in the recesses of his body. Stimulated by the pain, the entire ordeal of his rape came rushing back to him. His heart thudded with dread as he imagined being raped to death by these elves. Were they as good as the orcs at keeping their prisoners alive? But then, maybe they would simply kill him, for he no longer served their purposes. And freedom would finally come in the form of a cold knife sliced through the throat.

The thought filled him with an odd sense of serenity, and it almost surprised him how prepared he was to die. He only hoped his brother would be returned to Uncle Thorin and their party and that, somehow, they’d escape this place and return to the road. But for himself, all he could wish for was a swift and merciful end after all his suffering.

Thus it came as quite the surprise when they finally came to a halt and the sack was lifted off Fili’s head. He blinked a few times, eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the torchlight. Then he heard a gasp, and caught the familiar blue eyes of his kin.

“Fili!” Thorin grabbed the bars of his prison cell and let out a cry of joy and sadness at seeing his nephew returned to him. “You’re safe.”

“Uncle?” Fili stared at Thorin, suddenly unsure if he was dreaming or dead. The guards behind him released his hands and began to unlock the bars to an empty prison cell. Fili took the chance and rushed to his uncle’s cell, grasping at his hands through the bars, only believing that Thorin was really there when he felt the warm touch of his uncle’s calloused fingers on his hands.

“You’re so pale,” Thorin said, worriedly. “Do you feel faint?”

“I’ll be fine,” Fili lied. He was dizzy from the exertion and exhausted from the ordeal with Thranduil. But as much as he wanted to rest, he could not get Kili off his mind. “Did you see my brother?”

Thorin’s face contorted in a look of anguished worry. “They did not bring him?” Angrily, he slammed a fist against his bars and glared up at one of the elvish guards. “Damn you, elf! Where is my nephew!?”

The elf merely lifted her silvery eyebrows and grabbed Fili by the shoulder, then dragged him backwards toward the cell.

“Fili, no!” Thorin cried as his hand slipped from Fili’s fingers.

“Uncle…” Fili gasped as the elf shoved him into the cell and slammed the door shut. Then she and the rest of her kind disappeared up the stairs, back into that accursed forest kingdom of theirs, where Kili was still in bondage.

“Fili, you have to be strong,” Thorin called from across the steps. “I promise you, we will avenge your suffering! The orcs and elves will pay…”

Already, it was becoming impossible to listen to Thorin’s voice. Fili staggered to the corner of his cell and thudded up against the wall, then let his feet give out beneath him as he slid to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, weeping softly. How much stronger could he pretend to be, before it killed him? Overcome with despair, his sobs began to wrack him. He knew the rest of the company could hear him, but he did not care. He missed his brother, feared for him. And it was in that place of shameful, all-consuming fear that he succumbed to his exhaustion. His final thought before sleep claimed him was that if the end came, it would do so while he slept, before he had to look Thorin in the eye again. But before he could drift off into sleep, he thought he felt the touch of a gentle hand upon his fingers. He startled awake, but saw no one.

“It’s all right, Fili,” came Bilbo’s voice, close but unseen. Again, the strange feeling of being touched on the hand, even though no one was there. “We’ll get him back,” came Bilbo’s voice. “And then, we’re getting out of here.”


	19. Reunion

Kili barely registered the sensation of his bare feet against the flagstones, too disoriented by the throbbing in his face to pay any attention to what his feet were doing. He stumbled several times, dizzied by the pain. Each time, he was roughly hauled back up by the strong hands of his elvish captors. 

“Where are you taking me?” he gasped, swallowing the blood that oozed down the back of his throat.

“”Quiet,” hissed one of the guards as he gave Kili a hard shove between the shoulderblades.

“Enough!” came another voice, terse and authoritative. 

At the command, the elves stopped moving, bringing Kili to a jerking halt. Kili reeled for a moment before regaining his balance. The heady feeling that came from the broken nose was beginning to fade, but he was still nauseated and afraid -- of the elves, though he hated to admit it. These damned creatures were little better than orcs.

The sudden feel of a hand on his chest made him startle, and before he realized what he was doing, he was struggling to break free. He pulled against the firmly grasping hands of the three, four, or maybe more elves who held his arms. But he was unable to escape. 

Fortunately, when the hand disappeared, almost immediately, it took with it the implicit threat. Kili relaxed somewhat.

“E agarad,” said the authoritative elf who had touched Kili’s chest. The words were harsh, but the tone was gentle, almost apologetic. “Conen nuitha car naegra ti gwanûn.”

“Hadhodhên harn oio tog e sí,” the elvish guard argued. This one’s voice held no kindness.

“Speak in a tongue we can all understand, you wretched bastards!” Kili spat, words muffled by the sack over his head.

He felt a hand gently sweep the sack up and off his face, and he had to blink a few times before his vision adjusted to the sudden burst of light that hit his watering eyes. When he finally regained focus, the faces of several elves, blond-haired and blue-eyed and each looking much the same as the others, stared back at him. One of the elves, the one who had removed the sack, looked different from his comrades only in how he carried himself. He was taller and more upright, nobler almost, if one could use that term for elves.

“Who hurt you this way?” the elf with the sack said. His voice was oddly gentle.

“Your king,” Kili snarled, spitting blood at the elf’s feet.

A small, pained frown flitted briefly over the elf’s face. “Ai, e thel balch, ada!” he muttered, seemingly only to himself. He fixed Kili with a pensive look, scrutinizing his broken nose. “I can set it to keep it from healing crooked. May I?”

“No,” Kili snapped back, sounding more petulant than he’d intended. “I’ll wear it as a battle scar.”

“A scar from a battle lost to an enemy king?”

Kili gave a sudden swallow. He tried to hold the elf’s stare, but the words were cutting, more so than they should have been. He felt himself blushing and he eventually dropped his eyes, unable to keep up the glare.

“I know of your pride, prince. Allow me to spare it before I return you to your kin.”

“What?” This time, when Kili’s eyes snapped back up to the elf, he was filled with a curious and eager sense of hopefulness, desperate almost. “You are letting me go?”

“I cannot release you,” the elf said, pointedly. “But I will at least return you to your kin.” His eyes darted to one of the other elvish guards, and he murmured a command in Sindarin. Immediately, the elves let Kili go and departed, leaving the two of them alone in the hall. Even so, the elf dropped his voice to a whisper as if he knew that others might be listening.

“You will be taken to the dungeons,” the elf said. “I have no wish to keep you captive in our lands. But I cannot set you free without risking my own life. Dwarves and men are not the only ones who execute their traitors.”

Kili narrowed his eyes, suspicious but still daring to entertain the thought of trusting him. “Who are you?” 

“One who would see peace between our people. Or at least, an end to this…” the elf waved his hand around in distaste, “...madness.”

“If you will not free us, why bother telling me this?”

“Because I know how you can free yourself.”

Kili fell silent, waiting for the elf to go on.

“There is a passage under the cellars near the entrance to the prison,” the elf whispered. His words were in broken Khuzdul, an ancient form of it that Kili had thought was long dead to anyone who was not of the line of Durin. “I can ensure that the guards will be changing shifts during the festival of the moon tomorrow night. As to how you escape from the cells, though, that is something I cannot help you with.”

Kili let out an exasperated huff. “Then why taunt me with the offer of freedom?”

“I suspect that you’re either clever enough or tenacious enough to find your way out,” the elf said, coolly. “Don’t prove me wrong.”

He gave a loud call in Sindarin and two of the original contingent of elves returned. They took Kili by the arms and held him steady while their commander placed a blindfold over Kili’s eyes, carefully so as not to injure his nose any further. When he was finished, the other elves began to escort Kili off somewhere, down a long set of winding halls and several flights of stairs, where the air grew cool and damp. As they descended, Kili imagined that if he could smell anything but his own blood, it would smell of the comforts of earth and the underground deep.

Eventually he could begin to hear the sounds of whispering voices from somewhere below him. It only took a moment before he realized that it was Dwalin’s voice he heard. He perked up immediately and yelled out for his friend, earning himself a smack in the back of the head. He barely noticed, so overwhelmed with joy at hearing the sudden eruption of cheering dwarvish voices that echoed up to him from the halls below.

\- - - - - 

Fili couldn’t stop shivering. The Mirkwood infirmary, with its cozy fire, soft cots and linens and clean conditions, had been a paradise compared to the damp cell where he now found himself. Long gone were his armor and clothing -- as well as the apparel he’d borrowed from his friends at Beorn’s home. He had nothing to wear now, except the long dressing gown given by Erumiel. Made for elves, it hung nearly to his ankles and was too tight across the chest, and did little to protect his body against the cold stone floor. The only warmth available came from a mess of dried reeds in the corner, but he avoided the makeshift bed. It looked dirty and used, and he feared that his wounds might fester from whatever filth was in those reeds. So he positioned himself in the opposite dark corner, away from the gate and the reeds and the light, escaping the constant cold breeze by curling up on himself.

He was not there long before the aches from shivering began to take their toll. It was so cold. Everything hurt. But there would be no warmth, nor medicine. And Kili was still missing. There was no reason to think that the elves would ever let them free. He imagined that he would die like this, hunched in his dark little corner, alone and scared.

When he did manage a few moments of fitful sleep, his dreams were filled with cold white skin, raspy furred legs that gripped him tight and his brother’s screams for help. “Kili,” he cried out in his dream, grasping for his brother with hands that could not reach.

“Kili…” he murmured, waking himself from the nightmare with the sound of his own voice. But he must have still been dreaming, for he thought he heard his brother’s call, echoing through the dungeon.

“It’s Kili! By Mahal, they’ve brought him back!” Bofur’s voice penetrated Fili’s consciousness.

“Kee?” Fili whispered, rolling onto his side. His shoulder throbbed in protest as he pulled himself up on one elbow. He groaned, but stubbornly pushed through the pain, craning his neck toward the gate and blinking until his eyes adjusted to the torchlight. Then, his heart seemed to leap in his chest as he saw four figures descending the prison steps.

Kili wore a blindfold above his bloody nose. His neck and the front of his shirt were stained red. Two guards held him by his upper arms, and they were followed by the elvish prince, who briefly met Fili’s eyes as they passed.

“Togath e tharsí,” one of the guards told the other, pointing down the length of the cell block to an empty cell that was far from Fili and the rest of the dwarves.

“No!” Fili cried involuntarily. He jumped to his feet and gritted his teeth against the surge of pain and grabbed for Kili through the bars.

“Daro!” the elvish prince barked. The other two elves went still, and the prince turned once again to Fili. His eyes were so pale blue that they almost appeared white, but his kindness was visible in them. Then he said in the common tongue, “Put the lad in here, with this one.”

Fili gasped at his good fortune. Suddenly, all the pain and the cold seemed bearable. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of relief, however, until Kili fell down next to him on the patch of strewn reeds. 

“Oh,” Fili breathed, “your nose… your _hair_...” he lifted his good arm to feel the shorn locks. “We will see the Elvenking humbled for what he’s done to you, Kili,” Fili promised, leaning forward to lay his forehead against his brother’s, careful not to jar Kili’s injury.

“Let the elf king burn,” Kili spat. He gave a groan and pulled back, coughing through a thick glob of blood. “How bad is it?”

Fili sighed, and said diplomatically, “You shan’t be winning any beauty contests, brother.”

Kili gave a weak, muddy-sounding laugh. “At least it’s not so dainty now, eh?”

“I can set it for you.” Fili tilted his head, studying the broken bone. The trickle of blood running from Kili’s nose made him a bit queasy, but Kili’s discomfort troubled him further. 

“Aye,” Kili muttered. He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood, then turned back to Fili, squinting through his leaking eyes and stiffening for the impending pain.

Fili was no stranger to patching his brother up after a squabble. But things felt different between them now. They had witnessed one another savaged. A beating seemed like nothing in comparison. “This is going to hurt. You know that, right?” 

“Does anything we do not hurt?” Closing his eyes, Kili nodded, inhaling once and deeply, then exhaling sharply to ready himself for the pain.

Fili took a deep breath, steeling himself. Raising his left arm caused him considerable pain, but he needed both hands to do what needed to be done. He hissed and gripped his shoulder until the pain became more bearable. “Lean back against the wall,” he cautioned Kili. “To steady yourself, and me.” He then reached down and tore off a scrap of his night shirt and handed it to his brother. “Blow into this.”

Kili’s nose throbbed as he gingerly held the scrap up to it and blew. A wave of dizziness rushed through him, but the pain was bearable, hardly worse than anything else he’d experienced. He blew as much out of the blood as he could and tossed the rag away without looking at its contents.

“Are you ready?” Fili asked him.

Kili nodded silently.

Cupping his brother’s chin with both hands, Fili raised his thumbs to press carefully on either side of the bridge of Kili’s nose. “It’s broken,” Fili confirmed what they both already knew, “but not horribly so. Erumiel would have been much better at this than me,” he winced, and pressed in on both sides of the bone, biting the inside of his own cheek so hard he drew blood. He didn’t let up the pressure until he heard a small _snick_ as the bone aligned properly.

Kili grimaced and hissed out a pained breath as Fili pushed the bones back into place. He let out an involuntary groan and fell back against the wall, breathing deeply until the pain began to ebb. 

“Fili, be careful!” came Thorin’s voice from across the cell block.

“I’m not made of glass,” Kili called back, though his pain was apparent through the groan that accompanied the words. By now, his face was quite pale and covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. But when he opened his eyes and fixed them on Fili, the pain began to diminish. “Again?”

“No… I’m done,” Fili told Kili softly, squeezing his hand. “Will you be all right, brother?”

Kili gave a noncommittal grunt and a weak shake of his head. “After all this?”

The rest did not need saying. They would never be all right, and they both knew it, even if neither wanted to give voice to those thoughts. With a sigh, Fili forced himself to smile. An empty smile, but one that would mask the sadness they both felt.

“I’m so glad they brought you here,” he said. “That they put you here, with me. I was so scared of what they might… of what… that you might never come back to me,” he whispered, “and that I could not bear.”

“I doubt they want to keep us here any longer than we want to be here,” Kili said. He lowered his voice. “One of them told me how to escape.”

Fili’s eyes went wide. “Really? How?”

“The cellars, under the prison. But we’ll need to get there.”

“We’ve tried breaking free,” came Thorin’s voice from across the cell block, “but these bars are too strong! They are of Dwarvish make, and the elves stole them, along with many other things,” he groused.

“There need be no breaking of bars.” Bilbo’s head popped around the corner from up the stairs, and he gave Fili and Kili a brief, overly friendly nod, as if unsure of what to say about their situation. He turned back to Thorin. He pulled forth a ring of keys from his pocket, but jerked them back when Thorin grabbed for them. 

“How long have you had those!?” Thorin demanded. 

“Several days, I admit. Have you forgotten that I signed on as your burglar?” Bilbo looked at Thorin inquisitively. “The trick was waiting for the proper time to put them to use.”

Thorin’s was suddenly fuming. “Why did you not say something sooner!? Damn you, burglar!” 

Bilbo jumped back out of reach as Thorin thrashed against his bars, grabbing for him through the grate. “Hush, Thorin! You’ll…”

“Quiet down there!” A haughty elvish voice yelled out from upstairs.

As the sound of approaching footsteps began to echo off the walls, Bilbo gasped and disappeared around the corner and Thorin’s fuming anger ebbed just a little. He was still gripping the bars when the elvish guard appeared on the steps. The elf glared down his long nose at the king. Thorin glared right back.

“Calm yourself, prisoner,” the elf sneered.

“You may have imprisoned our bodies,” Thorin said coolly, “but our minds are still our own.”

The elf gave a soft huff that sounded almost like a laugh. “We shall see,” he said, before disappearing back up the steps.

Kili swallowed, then turned to Fili. A sudden chill ran down his spine. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I’m here with you,” Fili assured him. “Let them try to separate us again!”

The aggression in Fili’s voice was somewhat reassuring. Kili found himself returning Fili’s angry grimace with a small, weak smile. “Never again, brother.”

“What about getting out of here?” Thorin demanded. He had not noticed the words shared between the brothers, and now that Bilbo had returned from hiding, the king was interrogating his burglar as if it were Bilbo in the cell and Thorin on the steps.

“Hush, now!” Bilbo’s whisper was more fearful than chastising. He glanced about furtively, but the guard did not return.

“It would seem to me,” Balin’s level voice came from across the way, despite his cell being out of their sight, “that Bilbo has a plan well in motion.”

Thorin growled stubbornly, but said nothing. He fixed Bilbo with a glare that was both impatient and full of rage, the total expression of his grief over all that had happened on this journey.

“Ah, well…” Bilbo toed the ground with his furred foot. Then he said in a whisper that was almost too low for Fili and Kili to hear. “There’s the festival tomorrow night. It happens once every five hundred years, and if there shall be a time when the guards are gone, it’ll be then.”

“I heard Tauriel and Erumiel talking about that,” Fili whispered to his brother. “They said they’ve brought in barrels of food and wine for the occasion. They ship it along the river on barges.”

“Then, that’s our way out,” Kili said, suddenly heartened by the thought of freedom. He could almost taste it over the coppery tang of blood.

Fili was unable to allow the hope to blossom in his own chest. Too many terrible things had happened to him in the past few weeks. His throat tightened with panic as he listened to Bilbo explain his plan, but he could not come up with an alternative. Though it seemed foolhardy, and there was no telling whether they would survive the escape attempt, the hobbit’s idea was better than what his pain-weakened mind could come up with. Which was nothing. He had nothing to offer anymore, and so he resigned himself to the fate that Bilbo had planned for them all.

Tomorrow, after the rising of the moon, they would make their escape. Fili doubted it would be easy, and he prayed to Mahal to grant him the strength to keep up with the rest of his comrades. He’d need to sleep. He was grateful now, more than ever, for his brother’s presence.

In the dim light, Kili watched an array of emotions play over his brother’s face. He felt a stab of sorrow edged with guilt. Fili’s hand still rested on his own, and now, Kili turned his palm upward and interlaced his fingers with those of his brother. “We have a chance to live now,” he said, softly.

“Do we?”

“I don’t know,” Kili said. “But I won’t let you give up. Not after all that we’ve been through.”

“I might say the same for you,” Fili said, quietly. In a silent vow, he added that this time, he would protect Kili from whatever dangers lay beyond the boundaries of their prison. 

With the reassurance that came with a sense of purpose, he finally began to feel that they might just make it after all. Perhaps things would get better. Even thinking it made everything seem a bit less grievous and a bit more bearable.

Fili opened his arms, inviting Kili to lie down with him on the cold floor. “For warmth,” he explained. 

Kili raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He laughed softly and shook his head, then leaned up against Fili, relaxing into his embrace. 

When they bedded down together, with arms and legs intertwined and bodies close, it was as if they were children. It had been years since they had lain together like this, but now, it came all too naturally and brought comfort to them both, a salve for the spirit if not for the body. They were quiet as they lay there together until they began to drift off into sleep. Kili first, followed soon after by Fili, who found in his pained but restful sleep a sense of hope that would never again be extinguished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Sindarin translations (shoddy grammar and all)**   
>  **Elves in the hall:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _E agarad. Conen le nuitha car naegra bo ti gwanûn._  
>  Intended: "He is bleeding. I commanded you, stop causing these brothers more pain."  
> Literal: “He bleeds. Command I gave to thee, stop short to do pain on them twins.”
> 
>  _Hadhodhên harn oio togim e sí._  
>  Intended: "The dwarfling was wounded before we brought him here."  
> Literal: “Dwarf child wounded from ago we bring him here.”
> 
>  _Ai, e thel balch, ada!_  
>  Intended: "Oh, my father is cruel!"  
> Literal: "Oh, he means cruelty, father!"
> 
> **Elves in the dungeon:**
> 
>  _Togath e tharsí._  
>  We will lead him over here.
> 
>  _Daro!_  
>  Wait!
> 
>  **Vocab:**  
>  e (he, him)  
> agar (blood)  
> -ad (ending to a verb; assumedly makes a noun into a verb)  
> con (command, rule)  
> -in or -en (I, as in “I have” or “I gave”)  
> le (to thee)  
> nuitha (to stunt, to prevent from coming to completion, stop short, not allow to continue)  
> car (to do)  
> naegra (to pain)  
> bo (on)  
> ti (them)  
> gwanûn (a pair of twins)  
> hadhod (dwarf)  
> hên (child)  
> harn (wound)  
> o- (from, of)  
> io (ago)  
> tog (to lead, bring)  
> -m (first person plural, as in “we”; the “i” in “im” was added so “-m” could be suffixed to “tog” with the correct use of vowels/consonants)  
> sí (here)  
> ai (ah, as an exclamation)  
> thel (to intend, mean, purpose, resolve, will)  
> balch (cruel)  
> ada (father, informal)  
> ath (will, appears to be a modifier to longer words indicating the intent to do whatever the longer word states; ex: anglennatha, or “he will approach”, shows the modification to anglenna, or “to approach”)  
> thar- (across, athwart, over, beyond)  
> daro (wait! stop!)


	20. Barrels and Water

Despite the chill, the unforgiving hardness of the cell floor and the constant ache in his body, Fili slept remarkably well. Kili was with him, and the elves themselves had placed him there. Fili did not question that decision, but reveled in it. His brother was warm beside him, clinging so tightly to his chest that it left him aching, but he welcomed the pain, for it came from holding Kili all night.

He awoke the following morning -- at least, he thought it was morning -- to find that the rest of the company was already awake and milling impatiently about their cells. Kili was awake, as well. He was lying on his side next to Fili, eyes open, a sad and hollow expression fixed on Fili. 

“I’m sorry,” Kili said when Fili was fully awake. He closed his eyes and pulled away. “I didn’t mean to watch you as you slept.” 

Fili yawned, then coughed painfully. When he caught his breath, he said, “I don’t mind, khazash. I rather like the idea of someone looking out for me these days.” 

“I always thought of it as predatory, watching someone sleep.” Kili sat up and turned his back on Fili. He picked at the dirt ground into the grouting between the paving stones, feeling neither rested nor very useful as his brother’s protector. 

“I watched you a great deal, when we were in the elves' care,” Fili confessed. “I was afraid someone might come and take you away.” 

Kili turned back to look at Fili. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you that.” 

The words stung at first, but then Kili cracked a small, wry half-grin and gently tapped Fili on the forearm. 

“I jest,” Kili said. 

That made Fili smile. He pulled himself up on one elbow, then sat up with a grunt. Reeds and bits of dirt clung to his hair. His brief moment of carefree cheer disintegrated into a vague sense of disgust. He picked the reeds from his body and cast them to the floor. How dirty he felt, after sleeping a night on filthy stone. It reminded him of the goblin caves. If he had his way, he would never again sleep in the dirt. 

He pushed himself to his feet, glad to get off the floor. It took a moment for his breath to catch up, still hampered by the injury to his lung. But then, the discomfort became something different as he felt the sudden urge to relieve himself. He searched around the cell for something to do it in. There was no bucket, but there was at least a small channel running along the back wall that ended in a drain near the wall to the next cell. Fili made his way to the wall and kept his back to Kili as he took care of his needs. He felt exposed in the thin gown he’d been given to wear. 

At first, his stomach turned from the deplorable conditions of the cells. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, and hoped that they would be free from these cells before he ever needed to empty his bowels into that reeking stone channel. It was unfathomable that his companions had been down here for nearly a month. But at the thought of them, he realized that he had no right to complain. So he did not. 

Kili kept his eyes averted as Fili pissed into the back of the cell. It was not a pleasant reminder, that they still had bodies with all their bodily needs and weaknesses. He distracted himself by going to the gate and fixing his attention on the rest of the company. Balin and Dwalin muttered low and worried to each other. Across the steps, Thorin was pacing fitfully in his cell, lost in thought. 

“Uncle?” Kili called to him. 

Thorin stopped pacing abruptly, grabbing hold of the bars of his cell. “Kili, lad. You’re awake. Finally! Are you in pain? Did those elves leave you with any parting gifts? If so,” his tone darkened, “mark my words, once I get free from here…” 

“Thorin, calm down!” Kili cried, nerves set on edge by his uncle’s fretful rambling. He breathed in deeply to settle the thudding of his heart. 

Fili listened to the two of them, shaking his head in bemusement at his uncle’s words. Thorin could no more break out and seek his retribution on the elves than he could sprout wings and fly. But the notion of him still being so willing to protect Kili from harm filled Fili’s heart with warmth. 

When he finished, he pulled the nightshirt back down over his legs without looking and joined Kili at the gate. “Where’s Bilbo? Is it time for us to leave?” 

“Not yet,” Thorin grumbled. “That halfling takes too long to do anything.” 

“Perhaps he’s been held up by the elves, bringing in sundries for the festival,” Ori whispered from the next cell over. “Apparently, they’ve bought a great deal of wine. They’ve been up and down the steps all night.” 

Dwalin gave a low grumble and kicked the ground. “A half-cocked, hair-brained idea that Bilbo’s had. How he expects us to break free without those damned elves seeing us...” 

“Hush, now!” Came Dori’s voice from one of the cells too distant from Fili’s and Kili’s cell to be seen. “Your vociferous complaining will bring the guards and then they’ll station a watch right here on the steps!” 

“I’ve missed this,” Fili whispered to his brother. “Their banter. I’d forgotten how much.” 

Kili chuckled softly. “Me, too.” He gave Fili a small, shy smile. 

Fili returned the gesture, and a strong urge to embrace his brother swept over him. But he dared not touch him, for what if Kili recoiled? Neither of them took well to an unexpected touch anymore. He sighed, sadly, and the moment was lost. 

Beyond their cell, the other dwarves still carried on. 

“... but we won’t even have weapons!” came Gloin’s growl echoing up the passageway, “Even once we’re free, we’ll never goin’ tae be able to continue to Erebor withou’ weapons!” 

“You won’t need them.” Bilbo’s voice was high and clear, and he popped out from behind the corner, bright-eyed and grinning cheerfully. 

Kili’s stomach took a sour turn, seeing Bilbo so positively merry. He groaned and rolled his eyes. “I wish he’d had it half as bad as any of us,” he whispered to Fili. 

“Do not say that,” Fili snapped, quietly. He glared at Kili. “You would wish our suffering on him?” 

“Well, no…” Kili stammered, realizing just what he had said. He felt his face grow warm with shame. 

“I’m sure he’s felt quite helpless watching us be imprisoned,” Fili said. “He’s been unable to help until now. Let him have his joy. It marks the beginning of ours.” 

Kili narrowed his eyes. “Does it?” 

“I hope so.” 

Bilbo did not even seem to notice the brothers’ exchange. He busied himself by running down to the end of the steps, out of sight of Fili and Kili. They could hear the sound of keys jangling and then, the creak of the cell door as Bilbo began to spring the company free. 

“Is that--?” Fili craned his neck to see, but Bilbo was too far past the curve of the passageway. 

“I didn’t think he’d have the courage for it,” Kili said, gasping faintly. 

“It seems we’ve all underestimated him,” Fili admitted as the happy sounds of freed dwarves began to fill the air. 

“We must make haste,” Bilbo said as he reached their cell and began to fumble with the keys. His face went as red as a ruby and he didn’t dare to meet either brothers’ eyes. “I don’t know if you… you can walk or swim, or anything… but… well.” The key clicked in the lock and the door sprung open. 

Fili squeezed his brother’s hand, then quickly released it. Kili turned to him, with a hopeful smile on his face, all bitterness forgotten. 

“We’re perfectly mobile, Mr. Baggins,” Fili assured the hobbit. 

“Well.” Bilbo swallowed and looked up at Fili. He gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “Out you get, then.” 

Fili immediately came face to face with Thorin. “Uncle,” he whispered, voice breaking. 

Thorin’s eyes began to glisten. He smiled faintly and pressed his forehead to Fili’s. “You have suffered too much, my sister-son. But I promise you, it will all soon pass. You will be whole again.” 

His words were reassuring, but there was no time for Fili to linger and appreciate the renewal of his hope. Already Bilbo was hurrying the company out of the dungeon. Kili had caught up with the hobbit and was saying something about a river passageway under the storerooms. Bilbo nodded and waved Kili on his way. 

“Can you walk alright?” Thorin asked Fili in a discreet whisper. 

“Yes,” Fili said. “But if we are escaping through the river… I do not know if I can swim yet.” 

“I will help you if I must.” 

“Thank you, Uncle.” Then Fili was off, following the rest of the company wherever Bilbo was leading them. 

Ori fell in step next to Kili, trying not to show his dismay at Kili’s deeply bruised nose, or that fact that his hair had been shorn. “I’m sure your uncle’s especially glad Mr. Baggins decided to come with us,” the redhead whispered, trying to make conversation. 

“He’s certainly proving his usefulness,” Kili said. But the moment he had said it, he regretted it, for he didn’t feel so useful himself after all that had happened to him. 

“I’m so happy to see you, Kili,” Ori told him. “It’s been dreadful down here with nothing but old men to speak to.” 

“I’d imagine it’d be dreadful because of the shite troughs.” 

Ori snorted out a laugh, which he quickly extinguished when he saw Kili’s glower. “Yes, there was that,” he shrugged. “But mostly I worried for you and Fili.” 

“We’re all right,” Kili said quickly. “It’s nothing to worry about.” 

“You can talk to me, Kili,” Ori said imploringly. 

“Well, I don’t want to,” Kili snapped. It came out harsher than intended, stopping Ori cold. Kili stared for a moment at Ori, who was standing there wide-eyed and gape-mouthed, shocked by the sharpness of Kili’s rebuke. Kili sighed and tried to temper his tone. “I’m sorry.” 

Ori looked away, eyes eager to be anywhere but on Kili’s face. “I’m your friend, Kili. I’m here when you need me,” he assured him. 

“Silence!” Thorin hissed. He hastened to catch up to Bilbo at the front of the company. 

Bilbo hurried out of the prison toward the cellars, the stone floors uncomfortably cold against the bare soles of his feet. He led the company through the winding corridors until they came to a long series of storerooms separated by wooden doors. Bilbo had been this way before, but the last time, he’d been wearing his ring and had gone entirely unseen, even though the halls had been bustling with elves bringing in barrels of foodstuffs and wine, merry in a strangely distant way. By now, the elves were gone, off to their moon festival, except for a few that Bilbo suddenly heard from the next room. He stopped abruptly. Thorin crashed into him from behind. 

“Baggins, what…” Thorin started to bluster, but Bilbo hushed him. 

“Elves!” Bilbo whispered. 

Thorin immediately fell silent. He held up a fist to the company and they all went quiet. 

Bilbo pressed his ear to the door and listened carefully to the sounds of the elves’ voices. There didn’t seem to be more than three, but much to Bilbo’s surprise, they were singing raucously in slurred harmonies. 

“Someone’s been sampling that wine, and quite a bit I’d wager,” Bofur chuckled. 

“Wait here,” Bilbo told the dwarves as he reached for the door handle. 

“Bilbo, don’t.” Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand. “We have no weapons. If they alert the guards, we will be finished.” 

“You hired me to sneak about, did you not?” Bilbo countered. “Let me take care of them.” Then he disappeared beyond the doorway, leaving the dwarves shivering in the storeroom. 

Fili drew closer to his brother and Ori, sharing their body heat. Bilbo wasn’t gone for long, but it seemed like an age to Fili. He listened with bated breath to the voices of the elves. When their singing gradually went silent, his eyes went wide and he grew alarmed to think that Bilbo might have assassinated them. He’d not thought Bilbo to have the stomach for murder. 

Seconds after the singing stopped, Bilbo reappeared. “That should do it,” he said, cheerily. 

“What did you do to them?” Bofur asked worriedly. 

“Nothing,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “They’d drank too much and fell asleep.” 

Fili exhaled softly in relief. 

“Well, no time to waste,” Bilbo said, opening the door and ushering the dwarves in. “Be quiet as you go!” 

On his way through the door, Kili grabbed Bilbo by the lapel of his corduroy jacket. “Did you find the passageway? The one I told you about?” 

“Well, umm…” Bilbo swallowed. “I did find a passageway, but it won’t exactly be safe, getting out that way.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Listen. Hear the river?” 

“Yes.” 

“It flows under the floorboards. I saw a trapdoor in the back. It must lead to the water.” 

“Then that’s the way out!” Kili whispered, frantically. “What are you worried about?” 

“Those are rapids!” Bilbo retorted. “Not some gentle forest stream. Now, I don’t mean to be presumptuous” -- he held his hands up defensively -- “but you and Fili are still injured. You’re so thin, Kili! You’ll be sucked under by the waters and drowned!” 

“I can swim!” Kili snapped, shoving Bilbo up against the open door and sending it thudding against the wall. 

From inside the next storeroom, one of the elves sleeping at a low, central table gave a grunt and turned over in his sleep. 

Kili swallowed, realizing how close he’d come to getting the whole company caught. He loosened his grip on Bilbo’s lapels. The hobbit inched his way out from beneath Kili’s hands. 

“I have an idea,” Bilbo said, sounding shaken but determined. “It’s very risky, but we’ve come this far already. Come, I’ll show you.” He turned and hurried through the door, then darted past a long shelf of barrels, disappearing out of sight. 

The company followed him, and moments later they were in a room full of empty wooden barrels. By the smell of the place, each had contained wine or provisions for the festival and had recently been emptied and discarded. Their lids lay nearby. 

Bilbo strode past the barrels and opened up a trapdoor in the floor. The soft roar of the rushing river crescendoed into a cacophony of rapids pummelling their way over the rocks. Fili craned his neck to hazard a look into the water, a whitewater torrent that would crush even the strongest of swimmers. A painful tightness began to grow in his chest. 

“Oh, Bilbo…” Fili murmured. “We will never survive that.” 

Bilbo extended both hands toward the empty barrels. “The barrels go out this way.” 

Fili’s heart stuttered. Surely Bilbo didn’t think they should get inside the barrels! He drew closer to Thorin, instinctively grabbing for his uncle’s forearm. 

“I’ll seal you all in and push the barrels into the river,” Bilbo offered. “Then, once we’re past the rapids, I’ll get you out. Simple.” 

Fili’s grip on Thorin’s arm tightened. This was a terrible idea, not only because of the rapids, but also because it meant being shut into a tight, imprisoning space for Mahal knew how long. Living underground, often in enclosed places, wasn’t unfamiliar for most of the company -- especially those who had lived deep in Erebor. But Fili and Kili had spent their lives in the mountain passes of Ered Luin, open and free and clean, and the thought of being shut up inside a barrel with stale air and no means of escape was terribly frightening. 

At least Fili wasn’t the only one who feared it. 

“I-I don’t think I can do that,” Ori whispered. “How will we breathe?” 

“You’ll have some air, I assure you,” Bilbo said. He bobbed his head and inhaled through his teeth, as if considering some opposing argument. “But I’ll have to get you out quick, otherwise that air will run out.” 

The company groaned again. 

“We can’t stay here, that’s for certain,” Bombur said, eyeing the nearest barrel. It looked barely big enough to house his girth. “Oh, Mahal!” he sighed, trying to bolster his own courage. “Give me a boost, then, brother.” 

“Bombur, no!” shouted Oin, far too loudly. The company shushed him with sharp hissing noises. “You… and maybe Fili… are put most at risk by this plan.” 

“I won’t go another day subsisting on greens and fruit,” Bombur scoffed. “I’d sooner suffocate in a barrel than never eat spit-roasted boar again. A hand, then?” 

“We’ll put you in last,” Thorin said. He turned to Fili. “Can you breathe all right?” 

Fili, who felt panic squeezing his chest like a steel band, could scarcely breathe at all. “Is there no other way?” 

Bilbo shook his head sadly. “None that I can find.” 

“Being trapped in barrels could kill my nephews,” Thorin protested, shaking his head. “It could kill any of us.” 

“It’s the only plan we have,” Fili conceded, voice trembling slightly as he resigned himself to Bilbo’s plan. 

As if Kili could sense -- or shared -- Fili’s fears, he drew closer to his brother. “We’d only be inside for as long as it takes to get away from this fortress,” he assured Fili. “Then Bilbo will open the barrels. Right, Mr. Baggins?” His tone was calm, but his eyes were dark and dangerous, threatening death to the little hobbit if anything foul should happen to Fili. 

_By Durin_ , Fili thought, sadly, _they have darkened my brother’s heart._

He was shaken from his reverie by Bombur’s heavy huff-puff. Bofur had found an empty crate and now was helping his brother hoist his considerable weight up into one of the barrels. 

“We’ll get you out first thing,” Bofur said, reassuringly. 

“See to Fili first,” Bombur said, straining to haul himself into the barrel. 

The company moved quickly, each dwarf finding himself a barrel and curling up inside until Bilbo could come by and seal them in. Kili took a barrel toward the end that was cramped and stank of wine, and his stomach gave a lurch at the thought of inhaling wine scent until the air went foul and he lost consciousness. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled deep and fast, trying to gain as much good air as he could before he was sealed in. When he heard Bilbo reach his barrel, he took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly as the hobbit pounded the lid into place above his head. 

Due to the ache in his chest and belly and the wound in his shoulder, Fili found it difficult to curl up in his barrel. But he managed it, and once he got used to the tight feel of being confined, he actually found the enclosed space to be surprisingly tolerable. The barrel reeked of apples, and the smell comforted him to some degree, reminding him of the fruit trees his mother so diligently tended back in Ered Luin. He took a deep breath, which turned out to be a bit too deep, and it set him to coughing. “I’m alright,” he assured the hobbit when Bilbo came to put the cover on his barrel. 

Bilbo looked at him worriedly. “I’ll help you after Bombur,” he said. “Give me a moment.” 

Fili watched him go with growing concern. He could still hear the roar of the rapids beneath the floorboards. Were hobbits strong swimmers? He didn’t know. What if not, and something happened to Bilbo? Then the entire company would be left to suffocate in food and wine barrels, no doubt washing up dead in Lake Town or simply being swept out to sea, never to be buried in stone. The irrational fear grew as Bilbo finished with the other dwarves and returned to seal the lid on Fili’s barrel. The shroud of darkness only made the fear worse. These barrels would be their tombs. 

He gasped deeply in surprise as he felt the barrel give a lurch. He closed his eyes and squeezed his legs tighter to his chest, praying silently to Mahal and all the makers to spare him. His stomach reeled as he felt the barrel begin to turn, sending him spinning side-over-side until he was dizzy and ready to be sick. Then, he felt the support beneath his barrel give way and he was free falling straight down into the rushing rapids. 

A sharp, frightened cry escaped his lungs as the barrel hit the water and plunged under. The waves jostled him about inside the wooden cask, sending his injured body pummeling hard against the planks. He could not help but cry out in pain as a particularly nasty rapid sent his shoulder slamming up against the wall of the barrel. 

_Please, let this be over soon!_ he cried out silently. He wanted to scream, but already, the air was growing thin. He tried to stem the thudding of his heart and slow his breath. With every passing second, the burning need for air made him inhale faster and deeper, thinning the air further. 

The cloying smell of apples, coupled with the tossing and turning of the barrel, was beginning to make him nauseous. The pain and feeling of sickness and desperation for breath began to overwhelm him. He started to feel dizzy. As his thoughts grew cloudy, he felt the sudden touch of a hand on his flank and saw a flash of white even though his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. 

The memory sent a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his abdomen. Fili whimpered and tried to call out for Kili, but he couldn’t breathe. He tried to suppress the images that haunted him, but the more he tried to suppress the remembered nightmare, the stronger it became. The vision of white soon became the crushing embrace of a massive form against his body, squeezing him, trapping him. The muted sound of rushing water did little to drown out the voices in his mind. 

_I’ll give you plenty to cry about soon enough._

Fili’s chest tightened from the breathlessness, or perhaps from the crush of Azog’s weight. Now, they were one and the same. The memory and his present reality had begun to blur, and he could no longer distinguish the one from the other. He was helpless. 

Blind panic took over and he let out a scream that echoed loudly off the walls of his tiny prison. He pounded his fists desperately against the barrel boards but they would not give. His heart thudded in his chest and his face began to tingle. Little white lights began to wink in his vision. He gasped hard, over and over again, but his lungs filled only with stale, rancid air that did nothing to quell the need for breath. The pain was unbearable. When he thought he could no longer stand it, he soon began to feel a sense of tranquil resignation to his impending death. 

He was going to perish. This, he now knew, and it no longer mattered. His body went limp as his hold on reality slipped, then failed. As consciousness left him, his last thought was of his brother, and the small glimmer of hope that Kili would live. 

When Fili came to, he was lying on his back. He gasped and sweet, cold mountain air flooded into his lungs. He coughed it back up and sucked in again, chest in agony. But at least he had breath. Clarity returned spinning. He had to lie there, staring up at the dizzying mess of silver clouds until they slowed in their whirling and came to stop against the night sky, half-lit by starlight. Never had the moon looked so fair in its waning. 

Soon he could begin to make out words in the voices around him. He blinked a few times and a familiar face popped into view above him. It was Nori, looming over him. The closeness of Nori’s body to his own made him gasp, which sent him into a fit of relentless coughing. He spun away and scrambled onto all fours as he retched dryly onto the stony shore. 

“You’re all right, lad!” Nori cried. “We feared we’d lost you.” 

“Where’s Kili?” Fili gasped as soon as his coughing had subsided enough for speech. 

“I’m here.” Kili appeared out of nowhere in front of Fili and dropped down to his knees beside his brother. He pushed Fili’s damp hair off his face, and Fili could begin to make out the concern in his dark eyes. 

Fili let out a groan. “I hope I never smell the smell of apples again,” he whispered. 

Kili gave a soft laugh, more a sound of relief than of humor. “You were out for a long while,” he said, quietly. 

“I-I was?” Fili marveled. “It only seemed like a moment.” 

“I listened to your heart. I thought…” Kili’s face went grave. “I feared you had died, Nadad.” 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.” Fili’s eyes met his brother’s, and for a brief moment, Kili saw there a twinkle that had been extinguished weeks before. “But after all we’ve been through, you think I’d let a barrel finish me off?” 

At that, Kili smiled a closed-mouth smile that reached up to touch his eyes. Briefly, he cupped Fili’s jaw and touched his forehead to his brother’s, then pulled back and stood and looked around. 

“Where are we?” he asked, taking in their surroundings. 

Five of the barrels had washed up on a gravel beach downstream of the rapids. A few more barrels were downstream, where the water had calmed somewhat but was still moving too quickly for safe travel via the river. If Kili turned upstream and squinted, he could just make out the falls leading from Thranduil’s kingdom. What a marvel, that they had traveled so far in so short a time. 

That was not to say that the going had been easy. Kili’s barrel had been buffeted about by the water, bashing him around on the inside until the barrel had hit a rocky outcropping and had burst at one of its seams. Thank the Makers that dwarves were strong, but even still, Kili had barely managed to break his way out before the barrel was flooded. He escaped into the water and had kicked hard for the surface, struggling against the current. When he finally breached the surface, the cold, wet air was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and it brought clarity rushing back to his head. 

Immediately, he knew he had to get his brother to safety. He fought the current and dragged as many of the rest of the barrels as he could manage onto the shore, but some were swept further downstream. A few crashed against the rocks to the south. Two more disappeared around a bend and out of sight. Desperately, Kili broke open the barrels in order to find Fili. He found Ori first, then Bombur, red and wheezing and nearly dead from the lack of air. Nori was third. With each passing dwarf, his despair mounted. But finally, in the last barrel, he found his brother. 

Fili was unconscious and wasn’t breathing. Kili cried out and dragged Fili out of the barrel, threw him flat against the ground, and pressed his ear to his motionless chest. He heard nothing. He shook Fili hard, desperate to wake him. It was when he backhanded Fili to snap him awake that Nori gave a furious yell and kicked Kili off his brother. 

Kili tumbled into a roll on the gravel and came up with fists closed, ready to fight. But he stopped cold at what he saw then. Nori was rhythmically thrusting his palms against Fili’s chest. Then he tilted Fili’s head back to kiss his open mouth. Kili’s stomach plummeted inside him. Fili was dead and Nori was molesting his body and Kili could never stand by and watch that. 

“What are you doing!?” Kili cried, grabbing Nori’s arm. 

Nori shoved him back, frighteningly strong after all that Kili had lived through. He swayed like a fragile willow and went tumbling to his knees. 

“Get off!” Nori growled, low and dangerous. Immediately he resumed the rhythmic pumping. 

Kili blinked a few times in shock as Nori tilted Fili’s head back a second time, then sealed his lips over Fili’s mouth. Fili’s cheeks puffed out slightly and his chest lifted with the influx of Nori’s breath. Kili realized then that Nori was trying to revive Fili, and he was immediately filled with shame that he had assumed otherwise. A terrible sense of misery overwhelmed him, for he had nearly stopped Nori from saving Fili’s life. He dropped his eyes to the gravel ground and fought to keep down his tears. 

His despair mounted with each passing second. When the desperation overwhelmed his shame, he glanced up again at his brother. For each moment that Fili’s face remained ashen, his lips a sickly shade of blue, Kili’s sadness grew stronger. And just when Kili was about to give up hope, Fili gave a great gasp and drew in a halting breath on his own. 

Only after Fili was upright again could Kili bring himself to run to his side, where they embraced and renewed their hopes just for long enough to realize that only eleven of the dwarves and their barrels could be seen upon the shore. 

Standing beside his brother, Kili searched the river shore for the rest of the dwarves. He and Fili, and Nori, Ori, and Bombur were all there on the gravel shore. Downstream, Bifur was hauling Bofur from the water, and Dori was smashing his way out of his confines and Gloin was breaking Oin free from his barrel. Dwalin and Balin were rushing upstream toward Kili. 

“Where is Thorin!?” cried Dwalin once he reached the gravel shore. 

“He’s not with you?” 

“There are only twelve barrels, laddie!” Balin quickly counted them off with a gnarled finger. “Our king is missing.” 

Fili gasped in alarm and pushed himself to sitting. “He must have floated on downstream!” 

“That, or been crushed by the rapids!” Dwalin grabbed Kili by the shoulders. “Ye didn’t see him, did ye?” 

Kili recoiled from Dwalin’s grasp. He shook his head fiercely, stammered out a weak “No,” far too distraught to say much else. 

“Dammit!” Dwalin cursed, kicking the ground and sending gravel flying. “We must find him!” 

“What about Bilbo?” Fili asked when he realized that the hobbit, too, was missing. 

“He’s gone, as well?!” Balin cried. “If there is any goodness in this world, we will find them both.” 

The desperation of the company was heavy on Fili’s shoulders, and their frightful yelling threatened to overwhelm him, pushing him back down to the ground in defeat. He covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes closed, cradling his head between his knees. It was all too much for anyone to bear. He forced himself to focus his mind, but everything was a haze of exhaustion and heart-heavy grief. There were no thoughts to be had like this, no plan to be formed or undertaken in the rescue of his kin. Soon, he felt the hot wetness of tears against his cheek. He did not wipe them away, for what did it matter now, that anyone might see him weep? 

“Fili…” Kili’s voice was soft and close and concerned, and enough to bring Fili back from his overwhelming despair. 

When he looked up, Kili was there beside him, eyes big and white and glistening, but determination was writ upon his features. 

“Thorin’s gone,” Fili whispered. Saying it worsened the hurt. 

“We’ll find him,” Kili said, grabbing hold of Fili’s hands. He helped Fili to his feet and hooked one thin arm beneath Fili’s shoulders. “Nori, Dori, Gloin. Search upstream for any sign of Thorin. Dwalin, Balin. Come with us. We will need your help. The rest of you, wait here, and we’ll return when we find our king.” 

“And if he’s…” Fili’s breath caught in his throat. “If Thorin is dead?” 

“Then, we’ll find him,” Kili repeated, voice steely with determination. He started off down the river, taking Fili with him. “And we’ll bring him back to Erebor.”


	21. Vengeance

The road had not been kind to him. Without a mount, he had made his own path through Mirkwood, taking advantage of the path strewn with the bodies of dead spiders for safe passage. There were plenty of dead things to eat, some of them deer and elves and other pathetic creatures, but none were dwarves. If his quarry had died in the forest, Azog had never found their bodies. It was probably worthless now, to keep hunting them, but he was not one to be swayed from the path of revenge. He had to know for himself what had happened to those wretched dwarflings.

He traveled alone, having left his son in the care of the goblins of the Misty Mountains and not trusting the rest of his warriors to bring back the dwarves alive. His lowly slaves were too stupid to obey all but the simplest orders; “Capture them, and bring them back unspoilt” was too difficult a task for most orcs to understand. Only Bolg had the wit to obey that sort of command. But Bolg was gone. Probably dead now, for all Azog knew. 

The cut of the golden prince’s knife had been swift and true. An infection had grown in Bolg’s sightless eye socket that even the most skilled healers among his kind could not cure. Azog had left his son writhing in agony, grey skin going greenish with the onset of the gangrene. That was more than a month ago, now. And his hopes of returning either with his captured prey or to a son that yet still lived dwindled with every step he took. Now, he only hoped to find two dead dwarvish princes so he could mount their skulls upon his throne and grind their skeletons into warg meal. 

His journey had brought him through Mirkwood Forest and as far south as Dimrill Dale, then up again north as close to the Grey Mountains as he dared before being spotted by a patrol of the dwarves that infested those hills. By now, he had emerged somewhere north of the mountains of Mirkwood, near enough to the river to hear its faint rush of water. 

The sound reminded Azog of his thirst. It could also mean food--a deer or elf for roasting over a fire--before bed. What he did not expect to find but what came as a delightful surprise was the sight of a familiar face on the opposite shore, damp-haired and meager clothing dripping with water, isolated from all but one of his diminutive companions. He laughed silently to himself, overcome with glee at the sight of Thorin Oakenshield. 

“Confound it, Baggins!” Thorin yelled at his lone companion, voice nearly obscured by the sound of the rapids. “We’ve lost them, all of them! This is your fault.” Thorin’s little companion stuttered out something inaudible over the roar of the river as Thorin grabbed his collar and hoisted him into the air. Azog watched, grin growing wider with each passing second. Slowly he crept toward the edge of the water. With his back turned, Thorin did not even see him.

He took his chance and slipped into the icy water, swimming upstream towards the rapids. The white water foam concealed his movements and he made it to the opposite shore unnoticed. 

“Thorin, we should be searching for them now,” argued the one called Baggins. “We may be separated by the speed of the river, but surely all are alive and well, either up or downstream. Squabbling will solve nothing!”

Azog chuckled to himself. This would be all too easy. He drew himself up to his full height, not even bothering to hide anymore. Both little creatures were soaked through and only the smaller one, the Baggins, was armed. The sheathed weapon was tiny, little more than the smallest of eating daggers, but it gave off a thin, painfully bright light from the gap between sheath and the hilt. Azog started into a sprint, hoping to ambush them before the blade could be drawn. 

Thorin and the Baggins were too caught up in their quarreling to even notice him.

“Had we stayed in our cells,” Thorin bellowed, grabbing the Baggins by the jacket and shaking him, “at least we’d all still be alive!”

“Conjecture!” Baggins squeaked. “Every single member of the company may well still live. We need to go searching, Thorin! Put me down and set aside your cursed stubbornness!”

_”My_ stubbornness!? Why you…” Thorin suddenly went silent. He dropped Baggins and darted for a large, club-like fragment of a barrel. “Orcs, you fool!”

Thorin spun just before Azog reached him, too late. Azog leapt into the air and brought his spiked arm down, hoping to split Thorin across the belly with a slash of the bladed spikes. Thorin swung his club wildly, catching Azog’s spikes and knocking them aside before Azog came crashing down onto his quarry. His spike caught Thorin in the side, but it was only a flesh wound. The force of Azog’s impact sent them both tumbling across the riverbank.

Azog rolled off Thorin and stood just as the Baggins whipped that bright dagger from his belt. A piercing, agonizing blue light seemed to sear itself into Azog’s eyes. It wasn’t that bright, but it burned like the sun and Azog had to bring his hand up to block out the offensive light. Suddenly, he felt the impact of the club against his knee. A popping pain burst outward from the joint. Azog growled and backhanded Thorin with his spikes, slicing through the dwarf’s clothing and splitting open the skin beneath. Thorin tumbled back in a controlled fall, barely grazed by Azog’s strike.

Cursing his bad luck, Azog grabbed for his knee, feeling the kneebone slipped from the top of the joint. He grimaced and kicked his foot forward, and the little bone scraped its way back into place. The pain enraged him more than anything. He let out a snarl and spun on the Baggins, who had raced up to him to bury that bright blade in his kidney. Azog’s punch hit the Baggins in the face, knocking him off his feet. The Baggins, so little and lightweight, practically flew through the air. He landed some ten feet from Azog on his back. His dagger went clattering away somewhere across the stones.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried, placing himself bodily between the fallen hobbit and the enraged orc. For a brief second, his eyes scanned the shoreline, hoping for a glimpse of someone--anyone--from his traveling party. There wasn’t a creature in sight. The darkness surrounded them, isolated them. “Are you all right, Bilbo?”

“Bilbo, is it?” Azog placed himself a few paces in front of Thorin and fixed him with a menacing grin. “I don’t believe he’s getting up.”

“Quiet, you scum!” Thorin broke into a sprint, raising his club high.

At the last second, Azog sidestepped the incoming blow and knocked Thorin in the back of the head with his fist. The dwarf lost his footing and went sprawling. Immediately, Azog was on him. He flipped the dwarf over and stabbed his spiked hand down over Thorin’s neck, spikes narrowly missing the dwarf’s arteries.

“Your eyes!” Azog laughed, “They look like your heir’s! When you are afraid, you look like the dark-haired one.” 

Thorin’s wide eyes went wider. All color drained from his face until he was nearly as pale as Azog. Then he went red with fury. He began to thrash, and Azog had to climb atop him, straddling his hips and grabbing one free-flying fist to keep him pinned down. The other fist beat against his shoulder and his side and his cheek, but Thorin’s blows were too weak to hurt him. Azog’s laugh grew louder, more difficult to contain, until he was laughing uncontrollably even as Thorin pummeled him uselessly with his fist.

“Get off me!” Thorin cried.

“Your nephew begged me like that, too!” Azog bellowed. “He looked up at me just as you do now… _fought_ as uselessly as you do now, as I buried myself in him, defiling that precious heir of yours.”

Thorin went still, his mouth fixed into a grimace of pure, unbridled hatred. He let out a wordless, unintelligible growl. The hatred in his voice was unmistakable.

Azog cocked his head slightly, licking his lips as he watched Thorin’s emotions play across his face. For a moment, he imagined how easy it would be to snap that little neck and finish it right here, now. All his years spent searching for vengeance would be finished. But then, he realized that it would not be as satisfying to snuff out this branch of Durin alone. Thorin had taken his arm, but those dwarflings had taken his son.

“Before I kill you,” Azog breathed, “I want you to know how much I made your heirs suffer.”

“You did not defeat them,” Thorin hissed.

So, that meant they were still alive. _Oh, what a happy day!_ Azog thought. And more than that, Thorin had seen them recently, perhaps even as recently as that previous day. No doubt the lads were healed up by now, at least physically.

He suddenly had a delightful idea.

“You are traveling alone with a hobbit, Oakenshield. Where are your heirs now?”

“They are safe,” Thorin muttered. The lie was plain in his eyes.

“Do you believe they would come to rescue you?”

Thorin silently gritted his teeth.

“You never came to rescue them when Bolg and I took them prisoner,” Azog reminded him. “The blond one, he assured his brother that you would. But you did not. How do you think that made them feel?”

“Dwarves don’t _care_ about feelings!”

Azog burst into laughter at the preposterous proposition of an emotionless dwarf.

“They would fight their way out on their own, and they did!” Thorin raged. “No dwarf ever waits around for rescue. You should know that.”

“Oh, they fought. They fought mightily,” Azog told him coolly. “And I broke them both. You could have prevented it.”

“If you are trying to ply me with guilt, you filth, it will not work.”

“I see now where the blond gets his resilience, and his foolishness. No doubt you will be as much fun to fuck as he was.”

Thorin tried to suppress his sharp little inhale of disgust, but Azog heard it anyways. 

Azog grinned, egged on by the fact that he was wearing Thorin down. He brought his mouth close to Thorin’s ear, lips brushing up against the sweaty skin with each whispered word. “Your lad tried not to weep when I pushed my way into him.” He said, breath hot and foul. “He tried to be brave for his brother, you see. You might have been proud of him once, before I claimed him.” 

Thorin's eyes narrowed. “I will always be proud of them.”

“Even after knowing how he wept?” Azog grinned. “Oh, the second time… well, he was badly torn from before. Oh, how he cried out, like a skewered piglet. But not for you. By then, he’d accepted that you weren’t coming for him.”

“Shut up, you foul beast!”

“Does it pain you to know that I fucked your heirs while they waited for a rescue that never came? Both of them? Your stupid, defiant little scum of nephews will never be able to sit the throne after I plucked their rosebuds.”

“And yet they _live,_ ” Thorin reminded him. “And they will rule when I am gone.” He tried not to think about Fili and Kili, trapped in twin barrels, gasping for breath, or dashed against some rocks in the rapids.

Azog thought then of his own son, dying in some wretched goblin tunnel, the end of his line. It infuriated him, losing his son. He took out his rage on the pinned dwarf, slamming his good fist into Thorin’s face. His knuckles came back bloody. The dwarf grunted in pain and twisted beneath the orc’s weight. Azog had to fight to keep Thorin pinned. He endured the blows as Thorin began to punch him again with renewed vigor. 

Azog snarled and grabbed Thorin by the beard, then slammed his head back against the stones. Thorin grunted in pain and Azog smashed him into the ground again. Thorin’s eyes snapped open and his next blow faltered. With the third of Azog’s strikes, Thorin finally fell still. He was not unconscious, but he was certainly dazed. Azog wanted to kill him. It suddenly no longer mattered if he got his hands on those wretched dwarflings. He’d hunted Thorin for eighty years; he could hunt Fili and Kili for just as long.

To deliver the killing blow, he grabbed Thorin by the jaw and was about to snap his neck when he was suddenly knocked off his quarry by a heavy force that threw him to the ground in a heap. He rolled out from under his attacker and scrambled to his feet, coming face to face with the younger of Thorin’s two heirs. For a second, Azog was startled by the ragged look of him. Sopping wet, emaciatedly thin, shorn of hair and with eyes gone feral, the young dwarf was a sight to behold. He had picked up a handful of gravel and now hurled it at Azog’s face, blinding him with the rock dust.

Azog howled out as his vision went black. He heard a loud growl as a second dwarf, far heavier and bigger than Kili, smashed into him.

“For Thorin!” cried the big dwarf as he slammed his thick-knuckled fists down into Azog’s neck and face.

Fili hung back from the initial attack, watching intently, eyes squinting, studying Azog, lest the white orc get the best of his companions. He knelt to pick up two sharp-edged rocks.

“Kill him,” Fili entreated quietly in the silence that followed the massive orc’s fall to the earth. “We have to kill him!”

As Azog hit the ground, his head bounced upon the stones and for a moment, stars winked in his vision. By the time he recovered his senses, Thorin was on his feet and now lunged toward him, bellowing out some foul-tongued Khuzdul warcry. With an outward thrust of his right arm, Azog flung the big, bald dwarf from him, sending him skidding across the stones. He wheeled just in time to catch Kili as the young, rage-filled dwarfling leapt up onto his left arm, stabbing a sharpened stick downward into his shoulder. The stake sent a jarring, excruciating jolt through his arm that felt like lightning had entered his veins. The pain was severe, but brief, and it soon diminished into the dull throbbing of a fresh stab wound. But as Kili dropped off his shoulder and Azog spun to finish him, he found that his left arm no longer obeyed him.

“Well done, lad!” Thorin encouraged Kili, pushing himself up to his feet. In one attack with a simple stick, Kili had managed to nearly incapacitate Azog’s spiked arm. But Thorin’s exhilaration soon withered as Azog outstretched his leg, catching Kili by the ankle and sending him sprawling. Before Thorin could reach them, Azog had leapt onto Kili and had flipped him onto his back, and now he planted a single massive hand on Kili’s forehead, digging in with his fingers.

A shriek of pain cut through Bilbo’s unconsciousness and jerked him back to wakefulness. He blinked a few times and slowly pulled himself back into a standing position, realizing immediately what was happening. He took a moment to assess the fight. Kili’s plight spurred him into action. He searched for Sting, guided by its light to a small grassy patch where it had fallen. He hastened to pick up the weapon and once he was armed, he charged Azog with a vindictive cry.

Azog jerked his eyes up just in time to see the little hobbit come sprinting toward him. He let go of Kili’s face for just a moment, long enough to backhand the hobbit and send him ten feet back across the stony shore. The hobbit went down a second time, his sword falling again from his hands.

Fili watched in horror as Azog again began to close his fist upon Kili’s temples. He had to stop him before he crushed Kili’s skull. The fire of rage welled up inside him and he started for Azog, but when his eye caught the bright blue light of the hobbit’s sword spinning off into the scree by the water, he dove for the weapon, his shoulder protesting the action as he rolled away with the dagger in his grip. He came back to his feet and raced for Azog, sidestepping as the pale orc clumsily swung his left arm outward to catch him on the spikes. Then with a swift downward slice of Sting, Fili brought the shimmering blade arcing down into Azog’s chest, splitting him from neck to sternum.

Azog’s eyes went wide for a moment and he gave a sputtering, wet gasp as his lifeblood came gushing out of him.

Kili wrenched his head free from Azog’s crushing grip as the orc came crashing on top of him, then went still. Dazed, he lay there staring upwards until the stars stopped spinning. His head began to throb painfully as Fili, then Thorin, and finally Dwalin and Balin and Bilbo, all came into view above him. 

“Kili!” Fili cried, helping his brother out from beneath Azog’s dead weight. 

“I’m… I’m alright,” Kili croaked, pressing his hands to his throbbing forehead. 

Fili placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, assessing his condition. He couldn’t stop shaking. The fear that Azog would rise up again and attack them would not subside. He let out a hoarse cry and turned, bringing the blade down with both hands into the center of Azog’s back -- once, twice and again -- each blow more violent than the last. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt his uncle’s gentle hand on his own back, stilling him. 

“I…” he whispered, “I just had to make sure.” Sting fell from his hand and clattered to the surrounding stones. 

“Fili…” Thorin wrapped his arms around his nephew and pulled him close. “It’s done.” Feeling Thorin’s arms around him, Fili began to tremble, unable to stop the tears that began to course from his eyes. Thorin held him tighter as he wept. Fili gripped Thorin’s damp clothing and buried his face against his uncle’s chest, overwhelmed by relief and joy and utter disbelief that it was over. So simply and plainly, his ordeal was finally finished.

He still wept as he began to hear the voices of the rest of the company from somewhere upstream. One of them, Bofur perhaps, cried out to him, but he barely registered the sound of his friend’s voice. The only words he could comprehend were Thorin’s, soft and quiet in his ear. 

“I'm so sorry I never came for you,” Thorin whispered. 

Fili could not find words to express it, but he felt no bitterness toward his uncle for what had happened. All he felt was relief.

“What of Kili?” he finally managed to whisper. 

“You saved his life,” Thorin said, fondly. “O, my sister-son. You have saved us all.”


	22. Home

Fili ascended the steps of the dais, feeling the penetrating pressure of a thousand dwarvish eyes upon him from all directions. Ahead of him loomed the great green-and-gold throne of his people, empty, awaiting its new king. Flanking the throne were the closest confidants of the crown: Dwalin just to the left, old now and grey, balder than ever but no less broad-shouldered and well-muscled, no less loyal to the line of Durin; Ori just beside him, finally having grown a true, full gingery beard that reached below his belt, where it was hidden behind the book and quill perpetually clutched in his hands; Dain Ironfoot, Fili’s cousin from the Iron Hills, whose heroism in that battle so many years ago had rightly cinched Erebor and all its wealth for the dwarvish people; and just beside him, Kili, an adult now, still tall but no longer so painfully lean, with a full, neatly groomed black beard and braids in his long, silvering hair. Kili’s were the only eyes that Fili could meet. There he saw fondness mixed with sorrow, and the reassurance Fili needed to continue his slow ascent to the throne.

The coronation was a ritual for which he had spent years training, but it passed over him like a fever dream and he could scarcely believe it was happening. Even as he said the ancient Khuzdul pledge of kings and as he knelt before his people, staying still as Dis, his mother and Thorin’s sister, beamed proudly down upon him and crowned him King of his people, he could not believe it. The entire dwarvish audience erupted in applause as he stood and turned to face his people. He barely heard them, weighed down as he was by the crown. 

He had expected the crown to be heavy, but not _this_ heavy. It was a circlet of finely forged, ornate gold and silver that had appeared so noble against Thorin’s rugged features. But on Fili, it was cumbersome and weighty, and felt like a yoke upon him. He wanted desperately to give the crown back to his uncle; but that was impossible. Thorin was three days dead in his tomb of stone. And having died childless, the throne and all its duties had passed to his firstborn sister-son. The thought of Thorin’s passing made Fili’s eyes well up. He suppressed his tears, for it was improper for a king to weep. Especially today, of all days. There was no place in a king’s life for sentiment. 

He took his seat in the throne as they erupted into cheers. He knew he looked regal and proud, but in truth he felt adrift, alone. It had been years since he’d felt this vulnerable. The cheering soon began to take on the form of a name, his name, roaring in unison. It felt more like a jeer than anything. 

He closed his eyes and released his mind from the ceremony, imagining instead that he was young again, running through an alpine meadow filled with wildflowers, chasing hares and marmots, with Kili at his side. In the fantasy he forgot the torments of his past and the weight of his coming future, for however brief a time. But he would never again have the luxury of freedom. He feared the shackles of duty and feared the confinement of the throne. He feared failing his people. 

He had too much fear these days. But that had not stopped Thorin from naming him his heir. 

“I trust you to guide our people,” Thorin had said, as he lay dying. “You, who have lived through torment and recovered, gaining wisdom beyond your years, would never see our people suffer or fail to prosper.” 

“Please, Uncle. Do not ask this of me.” 

“I can ask no other.” 

“What of Dain? Or Kili?” 

“Dain is not of the primary line of Durin,” Thorin said. “Not as you are. And Kili… he never trained to be king.” 

Fili had closed his eyes, feeling the tears start their slow descent down his cheeks. Thorin was dying, and Fili hadn’t the heart to contradict his wishes. “Very well,” he had said. 

Then he kissed his uncle’s brow, and stayed with him to the end. 

Three days passed in mourning. Through them all, Fili relived his injuries through night terrors, haunted by the pain he and Kili had suffered at the hands of the orcs, the spiders, and Thranduil. He had never entirely been rid of the dreams, and though their severity and intensity had lessened over time, with Thorin’s passing, he found himself thrust back into the nightmare. With it came shame, ceaseless and unrelenting. Too many people in the throne room knew of his experience. And, he was certain, they’d told others. Someone like him – someone _defiled_ – should not be king. Thorin had never agreed with that, of course. After that day on the banks of the river, he’d made every effort to put those terrible weeks behind him – behind them all. 

_How I wish you were here, Thorin!_ Fili thought, as he opened his eyes and looked out over those assembled. Most eyes were kind and accepting, though a few were scrutinizing. Their judgment of him as unworthy made him feel exposed, naked, on display again. They did not believe he deserved the crown even now, years after his torment. He shared their skepticism, believing he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t feel that he could ever deserve to be king. 

He sat through the entire rest of the coronation ceremony in a numb stupor. At the feast that followed, he barely touched his food. And when the night was finally over, he found his way to the king’s chambers, finally and gratefully alone. 

The wealth of Erebor was amplified in the royal chambers, a series of grand rooms filled with gold-inlaid furniture and fireplaces four times the height of a dwarf, the bedroom a lavish spectacle with a massive four-poster bed covered in lush furs and gold-spun, bejewelled silks. But for all its worldly comfort, the room felt cold and unwelcoming. 

It was there that Fili could finally remove the crown from his head. He set it in a case and locked it away in his wardrobe, out of sight behind the carved stone doors. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by the oppressive quiet. 

He kept hoping that by some miracle Thorin would come sweeping into the room, fresh from a long hunt, and it all would have been a dream. But he had grown too old to believe in such childish fantasies. 

He laid down and tried to rest, but sleep would not come. Not in this room that should have never been his. He let his mind wander a bit, and his thoughts came to the impending duties, beginning tomorrow, in his new role as king. 

Before him lay hours of trade negotiations with Men and Elves. Bard’s grandson, the Prince of Dale, was coming in the morning, and in the afternoon, a royal contingent led by no other than Thranduil from the Greenwood. Relations with both races had improved greatly after Smaug’s destruction and the reclamation of Erebor, especially once Thorin made good on his promises of reparations to the people of Laketown and at last had begun the tenuous, peaceful overtures towards the Elves that were sorely needed. And though Fili could handle the men, the elves made him uneasy. The few times since the reclamation he’d had been in Thranduil’s presence, he had been uncomfortable at best and outright panicky at worst. Just thinking about the Elvish king made his insides twist in pain, and each time he saw that cold, compassionless face, it brought back all the memories he had long worked to put behind him. 

When he could no longer stand to ruminate, he sat up again and tugged on a bell pull beside the bed, summoning a servant to his chamber. It wasn’t long before the door opened. Instead of a servant, to Fili’s surprise, it was Kili who entered. 

“Brother?” Fili got to his feet. “I hadn’t expected you.” 

“My king,” Kili said, smiling faintly. He closed the distance between them and embraced Fili. 

Fili groaned at the title. “Too soon,” he sighed. “You must always call me brother, or Fili. Promise me that.” 

Kili nodded in exaggerated graveness. “As my king commands,” he said. The mischievous twinkle in his eye soon spread to his smile and he laughed merrily. 

How good it was, seeing Kili smile, but Fili could not share his joy. 

“This day,” Fili said, with eyes were downcast, “I knew it was coming. And yet I always pictured it far, far in the future… when we were both old and gray.” 

Kili’s smile softened and he reached for Fili, picking up one of the braids in his hair, caressing his thumb over the silver woven into the gold. “We _are_ old, brother. Not lads like we once were.” 

“Any grey hairs I’ve acquired have all come about due to worrying about you,” Fili assured him. 

This time, Kili’s smile faded entirely. He dropped Fili’s braid and turned away. “It’s been forty years since we’ve truly seen harm. I would not have wished you to spend a lifetime worrying over my well-being.” 

“I will _always_ worry about you, Kili. You’re my little brother.” 

“And this is why you will make a good king.” Kili looked again at Fili, over his shoulder. “You care. About those who are younger than you, those who suffer, those who you could sacrifice yourself in order to protect. You were always meant to sit the throne.” 

Fili shook his head. “All those qualities you describe – I feel them towards you, nadad. I cannot be responsible for a kingdom. How can I be responsible for so many when I couldn’t save the one I love most?” 

At that, Kili turned, fixing Fili with a bewildered stare. “I don’t understand. It is because of you that Azog died. Because of you, that the orcs could not take Erebor. It is because of you that I… did not give in to my despair all those years ago. You saved me, as I saved you. Why do you still doubt yourself?” 

Fili sat down on the edge of the bed. When Kili remained standing, Fili gestured for him to sit. “A part of me is still in those alcoves in Goblin Town,” he said as Kili sat beside him. “After Azog, Bolg, their torment… a part of me will always feel powerless. Weak. I’m frightened those feelings will overwhelm me at a critical time, when Erebor needs me most.” 

Kili joined him on the bed. “Is that why you looked as grey as stone when Mother crowned you King?” 

“I did not realize.” 

“I think I’m the only who noticed.” Kili closed his eyes. “I’m the only one who’s ever seen you so frightened.” 

“If I may confess, I _am_ frightened.” 

“You have nothing to fear now, Fili. You are now the most protected dwarf in the kingdom. A thousand of us would die before seeing you come to harm.” 

“That brings me no solace,” Fili said, morosely. “I’ve never fully healed from what was done to us.” 

“You’ve regained the strength in your arm…” 

“Not all of it,” Fili gently interrupted. “It still hurts from time to time. And I cannot shake my fear of spiders, or of enclosed spaces, or of many things really. I still dream of him sometimes.” 

“So do I,” said Kili, quietly. 

“Do you know what else I dream?” Fili reached for his hand and squeezed. 

“To not be king?” Kili’s smile returned. “It was clear in your face the moment Thorin named you heir.” 

Fili chuckled, ruefully. “Well, yes, but that is an inescapable truth. But, I often dream of our childhood home, in Ered Luin. The hills, the cookfires, the simpleness of it all. Before things got...” he paused. “Before we were made to grow up.” 

“I don’t remember much of childhood,” Kili confessed. “Many things before our journey to Erebor were lost to me. I suppose it’s a consequence of what happened.” 

“Then I shall remember for the both of us – of that time when we didn’t care so much about being proper, when there was never enough coin to get by, but always enough food on the table. When there was so much more to fear, but I was never afraid.” 

“Ah, to be never afraid. Only hobbits can dream of such things.” Kili turned his palm over, interlacing his fingers with those of his brother. It felt good, Fili’s hand in his own. “Do you ever think of Bilbo?” 

Fili nodded. “He saw us at our worst, and at our best, didn’t he?” 

“I wonder how his heart fares, missing uncle like he must.” 

“He’ll be old, now. If he still lives,” Fili said. “I wish he could have been there for the funeral. He would have hated it, saying goodbye to Thorin.” 

“Then I hope that if word of Thorin’s death finds him,” Kili said, “it finds him at home, at his hearth, where his sadness will not be so difficult to bear.” 

“Is there ever a good place for sadness?” Fili whispered, eyes welling. 

Kili was quiet for a long moment. “No. But somehow it finds us anyways.” 

“It is hard,” Fili lay his head on his brother’s shoulder, “having to be strong.” 

“You have been stronger than any other dwarf has ever had need to be.” 

“What if…” Fili met his brother’s eyes. “What if I no longer wanted to be?” 

“I would not fault for that.” 

“And would you run away with me, Kili?” 

Kili’s eyes went wide. “You would abandon the crown? Who would take it?” 

“Our cousin, of course. Dain,” Fili answered, as if it were the simplest thing. “He’s a hero, a savior. The dwarrow admire him.” 

“And… if I might be honest…” Kili bit his tongue, not wanting to voice the rumors he had heard, but knowing Fili needed to hear the truth. 

“You must always be honest with me, brother.” 

“There have been whispers,” Kili said. “Some of the dwarves – not all, of course, but some who have heard of our suffering second and third-hand – believe us both to be… too _weak_ to be competent leaders.” 

Fili lowered his gaze to their interlocked fingers. “I know,” he admitted. “But what will history make of me if I fail at leading my people?” 

“So you believe what they say about us,” Kili said, with bitter sadness. “That we are incompetent.” 

Fili shook his head. “It matters not what I believe. What matters is how we are perceived, Kili.” 

“Then perhaps we should not be perceived as those who would run from our duties.” 

“You are not incompetent, khazash. I owe you my life many times over. My decision to abdicate is based on how I perceive myself. And what I feel would best benefit our kingdom.” 

“Then you would willingly step down, hand the crown to our cousin, and leave Erebor in better, more popular hands.” 

“In a heartbeat, Kili. In less than that.” 

“Where would we go? We will not be welcome here any longer, or in any other dwarvish lands.” 

“We will take as much gold as we need, and go wherever the wind takes us,” Fili smiled for the first time in weeks. “We can visit our friends in Laketown, go look up Bilbo in the Shire… maybe go back to Rivendell. We can make our home wherever we choose, brother.” 

“I’ve missed the Shire,” Kili said. “The funny little fur-footed hobbits. They are not so unlike us in their ways. Only gentler, less prone to needless war.” 

“And the food!” Fili rolled his eyes. “Do you remember that first meal at Bilbo’s house? Oh, he was terrified of us then!” 

“I’m sure he won’t mind us hunting for our own upkeep.” Kili grinned. “You know, we could buy a plot of land near Hobbiton…” 

“...and build a Hobbit hole of our own...” Fili added. 

“And become farmers!” Kili let out a raucous laugh. “Could you imagine? Dwarvish farmers?” 

“I’ve seen stranger things.” Fili blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Kili could not discern if it was a product of sadness or mirth. 

“And that is what you would want?” Kili asked him. 

“I want that,” Fili whispered. “More than anything.” 

Kili met his brother’s eyes, watching as hope bloomed there beneath the tears, and he dipped his head forward, touching his brow to Fili’s. “Then let us not delay,” he said at last. “We’d best be there before winter.” 

“Bilbo would skin us alive if we didn’t take him some salt fish from Laketown,” Fili added. 

“We’ll stop in Dale on our way.” 

\- - - - - - - 

Bilbo puffed peacefully on his pipe, watching the leaves of the great tree in his backfield turn gradually from gold to red, the last of their summer colors fading into the rich, warm hues of autumn. One hand he kept in his pocket and the other firmly clasped around his pipe, enjoying the feel of his ring at his fingertips and the pipe smoke in his mouth. It was a perfect day for sitting and enjoying the quiet, idyllic little world of Hobbiton. 

The fields of the Shire were a patchwork of colors as the villagers worked to bring in the last of the harvest. The smell of pies baking wafted to him from Bertie Wallowkins’ round the bend, and the shouts and giggles of wee ones playing in the pumpkin patch reminded him of his own youthful shenanigans. Sometimes a few laughing children would race up to his gate, and he reveled in chasing them off with sweeties and little trinkets, telling them, “Now, NOT another one for the likes of you! I shall bring out my sword next time to deal with you raiders!” Of course, the children never took him seriously, and he never brought out the sword, but was always delighted whenever they came back again to torment old Mr. Baggins. 

But this day, unlike any other before it except one night so many years ago, it was not hobbit children that came to his gate. When he heard the footsteps on the path, he jumped up, prepared to play the crotchety old hobbit of Bag End, and was startled to come face-to-face with two very old friends. 

Their beards were longer and their faces more wizened, and one after the other, they introduced themselves, then swept simultaneously into a low bow, saying as one, “At your service!” 

“Why, Fili! Kili! How wonderful to see you!” Bilbo practically leapt over the garden gate and came crashing into his old friends. Kili caught him in a great squeezing hug, hoisted him in the air and gave him a hearty shake, laughing so loud as to wake all the neighbors as far as the next village. 

“You didn’t think to never see us again, did you?” Kili said, plopping Bilbo back down on the path. 

“I hadn’t dared to hope! After…” Bilbo trailed off breathlessly. “Well. That was a long time ago. But shouldn’t you be traveling with an entourage of some sort?” 

“We’ve come alone,” Fili said, embracing him warmly. “And we’ve come to stay, if you’ll have us, at least until we can find a place of our own.” 

“You… you mean to buy land in the Shire? Dear me, did some dwarvish prospectors find copper under our farms?” 

“No, nothing of the sort,” Kili said. He grinned. “We didn’t take well to mining.” 

“But I understood that you were next in line to the throne,” Bilbo said. “Has something changed? Have you…” he cleared his throat. “Well. Best not discuss this on the garden path. Come, come! I have some ripe, good cheese if you’d like. Or perhaps some biscuits?” 

He invited them in and soon they were all settled in the parlor, with Bilbo drinking tea and his guests, the finest of his ales. He munched on cheese and their delicious gift of salt fish, listening quietly as the brothers explained their choice to sever all ties to the throne, ensuring that the rule of Erebor would belong in the hands of their cousin, Dain Ironfoot. They did not speak of Thorin, and Bilbo hadn’t the heart to ask. 

“So you’ve come to the Shire, looking for a new life,” he said once they fell silent. 

“That’s the long and short of it,” Kili said. 

“You wouldn’t know of anyone selling property, would you?” Fili asked. 

“I think I may,” said Bilbo. “A good friend of the family, Saradoc Brandybuck, spoke of selling off a parcel of land down near the Brandywine river. It’s good land and quite lovely, near the forest if you wish to hunt. And though I’d love to put you up forever, I fear you’d eat me out of house and home within a month!” He gave them a wry wink. 

“Kili always was very voracious,” Fili conceded. 

Kili swatted Fili on the shoulder. “But you drink enough for the both of us. Not to worry, Bilbo. We’re planning to take up farming.” 

“So, are you ready then, Mr. Baggins?” Fili leaned forward earnestly. “Will you join us on our last big adventure?” 

Bilbo found himself smiling. “I quite believe I shall.” He stood and brushed the cheese crumbs from his waistcoat. “Come, then. Let us go meet Mr. Brandybuck.” 

THE END


End file.
